


Tread Lightly

by luna65



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: 1975, Dark Fantasy, Dream Logic, Dream Sex, Fae & Fairies, Gen, Multi, Period-Typical Everything, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-10-03 03:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17276411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna65/pseuds/luna65
Summary: July 1975: while rehearsing at Ridge Farm the members of Queen discover that their bucolic idyll might have come with a toll they aren't prepared to pay.





	1. “The night has teeth.  The night has claws, and I have found them."

**Author's Note:**

> This is another of my stories which - despite the supernatural element - is grounded in historical reality as well as I can make it and thus is "real" RPF. I owe a large debt to Elizabeth Hand's most excellent novella _Wylding Hall_ but this story is not directly based on that work.
> 
>  
> 
>  _What Mortall of a wretched Mind,_  
>  _Whose Sighs infect the balmy Wind,_  
>  _Has here presum'd to hide?_  
>  \- Thomas Parnell, circa 1722

Brian knew what it was like to awaken bathed in sweat, heart pounding and head aching.

If asked, Brian might have been able to categorize the nature of his dreams. There were the stress dreams, usually in which he was attempting some difficult task repeatedly, usually naked, sometimes during the occurrence of a natural disaster, occasionally involving people he knew. Strangers were generally present, anonymous masses who mocked him thoroughly.

Then there were the dreams which were more like films playing in his head, stories of all kinds, ones which lingered in his waking consciousness, residue washed ashore in mundane reality to make him wonder at the source of such a fancy. He was aware on some level that dreams were a tangle of influences, incidents, desires and conflicts.

And then...a subset of the cinematic visions, dreams in which the depiction of desires were wholly fantasy-related, those desires he wasn’t apt to express to anyone, but which seemed to find their way into the waking world via his songs.

England was in the grip of a dry summer: the days were hot and the nights bore a breath of that same atmosphere; he sought slumber in this bucolic respite with the window open, tangled in crisp white linen and skyclad...succumbing to a temptation to shed even his skivvies and accept the embrace of the feather bed from which his feet hung just the slightest, causing him to curl around the pillows he’d been provided.

Everything creaked in this place, showing its’ age.

He awoke several times that first night, each time feeling a breathless panic but unable to recall the source of it. The night wound on, the heat lessening by degrees but never fully giving way to a typical nocturnal chill.

Based on the feeling of gooseflesh speckling his arms upon awakening for the fourth time, Brian began to wonder if it was true, what was said regarding those very ancient places. He enjoyed a good spook story as anyone else would - especially at Christmas - but had never truly entertained the notion of the supernatural for more than a moment’s pondering except in the context of the fantasy he had indulged in as a child and adolescent. The night was thick with sounds and it calmed him somewhat to focus on what he heard beyond his window, feeling his eyes blink and blink and

He was on a path, narrow and winding. He wondered why he had wandered off from the others, but continued onward, enjoying the tranquility of his surroundings. After the clamour of so much activity and travel in months prior he was soothed by wind and birdsong and acres of green. A steadfast serenity took hold of him.

Whispers. Whispers?

It was the wind, surely. But no, there was something _underneath_ the movement of air against his eardrums.

He moved forward, the sound of his footsteps upon the ground unnaturally loud now that he was attempting to listen for what he thought he’d heard.

Just the faintest sound that shouldn’t be there. Unintelligible but also unusual.

He found himself near the orchard, the trees now bereft of blossoms in high summer, but their branches waving in the breath of a breeze. The warmth of the air was something welcoming, and he turned his face to the sun for a moment. How he loved the sun.

He then glanced down at his hands, the tan he’d acquired in Hawaii during their layover holiday somewhat faded but his hands seemed unnaturally pale somehow, even in the invasive light of the day.

It was _day_ , wasn’t it? A sense of confusion crept up on him. Why was he here? Wasn’t he supposed to be with the others?

The _sound_ , yes. But what sound? And where?

He looked up to see something within the trees. Someone.

A whisper.

In just one blink, just one moment, the figure was distant, and in the next right in front of him. _She_ looked up at him. The whisper now stretched and echoed and was deafening and she said

A gasp, pulling him out of one perception and into another. Awake, again. Panting in panic, sweat causing his curls to adhere to the back of his neck. He was also painfully erect, his cock seeming to strain against his very skin. He put a trembling hand against his heaving chest and gulped air as if he’d been drowning.

“Bloody hell,” Brian whispered, blinking rapidly and looking around at the room. All was as it should be, the hour had turned over and according to the wind-up alarm clock beside the bed it was now 4:17am. He vagued wondered if he should venture forth and attempt to find out if the zodiacal light would be visible since there was no artificial light pollution to interfere. He breathed slowly, attempting calm, but that face - appearing in the space of a heartbeat - continued to leave him startled, pulse rapid. Something about it, as if it - _she_ \- was ready to reveal something to him.

_What had she said?_

He could recall the character of the whisper but not the sense of it. It echoed, multiple iterations of itself, and the sound was equal parts thrill and terror. He wanted to recreate the sound, somehow, and a part of his mind considered how that might be done. 

In the midst of his pondering Brian had fallen asleep once more and if he dreamed, he couldn’t recall and was thus undisturbed.

 

 

“Roger, don’t squint please!” Andre called out.

The others snickered, and their photographer for the day had to wait for the return of their cooperative focus.

“I wouldn’t if you’d let me leave my sunnies on!” Roger countered, sounding mock-offended.

“As if it’s _the sun_ making you do that,” Freddie jibed with a smirk.

Brian often pondered how _exhausting_ being photographed could be. One wouldn’t think it, but the effort expended to pin the lens - as they were always told they needed to do - was emotionally taxing to him, to imbue the world beyond his view with a particular expectant longing to behold him staring directly back at them, the acknowledgement of the collective gaze.

“The teenie mags want to see those baby blues, kid,” Andre teased, framing another shot. He had to admit it was a gorgeous setting, and his charges were dressed and coiffed according to their specific appeal: Freddie in white and Brian in black, with Roger and John providing some contrasting bits of color and texture. Andre mused once again that a band with such collectively fabulous hair could do nothing _but_ succeed, in his opinion. Lush, full, artfully mussed and styled, it was the stuff of teenage dreams for certain. He went through several rolls of film trying for a particular type of distant allure, but only John had accomplished the expression he was looking for, and probably entirely by accident. Queen’s nearly blind-as-a-bat drummer continued to squint, while Freddie and Brian were looking a bit too serious for his liking.

“Okay chaps, let’s regroup, eh? John, why don’t you do something different then, right? Rog, you can put your sunnies back on.”

“Thank fuck,” the other proclaimed, removing said spectacles from his jacket pocket.

The staff were out and about on the grounds in the administration of their daily responsibilities, and the farm’s dogs were also having a romp across the wide lawn in front of the farmhouse. Brian grinned and whistled for them, crouching down as they trotted up to him.

“You wanna be famous, lovies? Come pose with us then, eh? Yeah, you wanna be a pop star, don’t you?”

“Can I wear my hat?” John asked. “I fear I’m about to squint meself, that sun is getting bright.”

“Sure, just don’t let it shadow your face, is all.”

“Oh you lot, delicate English flowers wilting in the heat,” Freddie teased, “You wouldn’t have lasted a minute in Bombay!”

“I love it!” Brian enthused. “Sunshine every day is fine by me.”

“Well what the fuck are ya doin’ _here_ then?” Roger quipped, and they all laughed.

“Elevenses, gents!” the matron of the house called out from across the lawn and all heads turned.

“Just let me have a few more, right?” Andre pleaded and the collective sigh was wholly audible.

“If you _must_ , darling,” Freddie drawled, and they proceeded to stand together against the backdrop of the farmhouse, rolling lawn and dogs as though portraying the veritable lords of the manor which they most decidedly were **not**.

 

The morning continued with tea and scones followed by more shooting, then lunch, the band taking pleasure in reminiscing with their tour photographer. Andre departed with promises of contact sheets delivered within a couple days, and the afternoon hung heavy upon the property.

“I believe I’m for a swim,” Freddie said. “Anyone else?”

Brian considered it, but decided he needed to work on his songs, none of which were quite wholly formed to his satisfaction.

Roger and John decided on a drive into the nearby village with promises to return for afternoon tea.

Brian wandered about with acoustic guitar in hand, considering the spot to alight for his compositional gambit. He walked into the barn but it had been closed up all day and thus was too stifling. He then looked into the lounge, but someone was Hoovering upstairs and so that locale was also out. He took the path past the house and the pool which lead to the Granary, the old storehouse had been converted into a cottage, but the owners had warned them against persistent mice when the four had argued about who should bunk there.

 _I don’t mind a few mice in the daytime_ , Brian thought.

He climbed the wooden staircase to the second floor and ventured out onto the balcony. In a strange quirk of parallax it looked as though the rest of the property was far in the distance, the chimneys of the farmhouse merely specks against the blue sky.

_Hmm._

He sat upon a faded chaise lounge and picked his way through “Wreck of the ‘39” in order to work out the middle eight - he wasn’t certain whether he should put a solo in it or just use a chord progression in the transition back to the verse. He also had a thought regarding a _different_ kind of solo, but he wasn’t certain what it would be. He hummed and strummed and the density of the heat acted as a gradually progressive soporific. The distance he sought to portray in the song felt like an actual consideration, as if no one would hear him even if he had the Old Lady in his hands playing the heaviest chords he could think of through his wall of AC30s.

Brian tapped his foot to mimic the skiffle beat he sought to embody for the song, and began to play from the verse into the chorus and as he hummed he heard an echo within it. He stopped and looked around, gooseflesh raising on his arms. That feeling when you know you’re being stared at. But the afternoon was nearly silent - he could hear bees hovering, the branches of a nearby oak rustling, and something else far far away...a voice perhaps?

 _Was that Freddie_ , he wondered. _Why does he sound so far off?_ He looked out at the grounds and

A gasp sounded in his right ear and he flinched. He turned his head to the left and was nose to nose with _her_.

Brian started, guitar nearly dropping from his lap and onto the wooden floor of the balcony. The heat enveloped him, he was covered in sweat and panting as if he’d run a relay. He turned his head to the left and

Her body, lithe and pale, entwined with his own, each of them wholly naked. They lay within a bower, the sky above a wide dome of cerulean. He was stiff fit to bursting, but she made no move to take him within her. Her eyes held his gaze and were the color of the pond by the yew trees, a shade mirroring deep green and bright blue but also no color of its’ own. She sighed and it rolled over him, the sound held so many other sounds within it. He made to kiss her and she turned her head even as her hands continued their curious meanderings. She knew his skin beneath her fingertips, and knew everything it contained. He moaned softly, blinking rapidly, and in one of those blinks she opened her mouth to him and

Brian hit the floor with a bang, causing a flock of swallows to startle into flight outside. He looked around, fully baffled, to find himself in the lounge of the farmhouse. His guitar rested upon the occasional table in front of the sofa, which he had just taken a tumble from.

“Wha -” he murmured, sitting up and rubbing his arm. Voices intruded, Roger and John walked into the room laughing softly, then flinched in surprise at the sight of Brian on the floor.

“You alright, mate?” Roger asked, immediately coming to kneel beside him.

Brian grimaced with embarrassment. “I must have dozed off, but I don’t remember doing it.”

“Hot as blazes today,” John noted, pushing his hat up off his forehead. “No one would blame you for a bit of kip.”

Their exchange was then interrupted by Freddie’s arrival, stumbling in through the doorway as if he’d been walking for miles, with the dogs at his heels. He sagged in relief to see his bandmates.

“Darlings, you would not believe! The dogs led me back to the house!”

“From where, exactly? I thought you’d gone for a swim,” Roger said.

“I had. But then I got turned ‘round somehow on the way back.”

“Are you suggesting -” John began.

“- yes, I got _lost_. And the dogs found me.”

Brian suddenly felt himself go cold as midwinter; he shivered, as if the summer day which they currently occupied did not exist and never had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter was taken from Caitlin R. Kiernan's novel _The Red Tree_.


	2. A very old coin

_He was awakened by the weight of silver in his hand..._

 

The comforts of tea and freshly-baked cake served on proper china and cutlery grounded them all within the daylight world, as did the heat and the sounds of the day, waning but still sublimely golden. Brian thought he could hear the distant lowing of cattle, and closer the occasional cry of the farm’s sole rooster, no doubt reminding his flock who was in charge. The dogs had joined them, looking up with audible sniffs and enormous eyes to beg for tea cake, and Brian allowed them to lick the crumbs from his fingers.

“Just so I understand,” John said after a bracing draught of tea, “tell us everything you did.”

Freddie had already downed one cup and was pouring another. After fixing the drink as he preferred he slowly set the stirring spoon upon the tray, his face pensive.

“It already feels as though I imagined it all.”

“That’s likely, you know,” Roger said, but in a gentle tone. “You might have got a bit too much sun.”

“Me? That’s ridiculous!”

“Tell us, Fred,” Brian urged him, for his own reasons of inquiry.

“I changed into my bathing costume and walked over to the pool. I took a magazine with me and had a bit of a read before I went in. I swam a few laps and at first it was refreshing but then I started to feel a chill, so I came out and toweled myself off, read a bit more, then decided I should go back and have a soak. I started down the path and just beyond the pool it felt like I stepped on something. I bent down to see what it was - just a pebble - and when I stood up again it was all gone.”

“Gone?” John asked.

“ _Gone_. I was in a field, it appeared. But there’s no planted fields here now, is there?”

“All fallow,” Brian replied.

“I couldn’t see the house, I couldn’t see _anything_. I stood there for how long I couldn’t say, just looking around trying to get my bearings.”

“Did it look like you were _here_ at all?” Brian asked. 

“Well, the countryside looks much the same to me, so one supposes it did, just that it definitely wasn’t on the property.”

“Did you...call out...at any time?”

“Darling, I was yelling my bloody head off!”

Brian felt himself go cold again. “I thought I heard someone, I thought it might be you.”

“Well then why didn’t you answer me?!”

“Because I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. It sounded so far off that it might have been _anything_.”

“I thought you were asleep,” Roger said.

“That was _before_ I fell asleep. I think.”

“You think?” John said, quirking an eyebrow.

Brian shrugged, unwilling to elaborate.

“So I yelled until I felt my throat starting to go out, then I heard the dogs barking. That sound was far off too, now that I think of it.” Freddie looked at Brian and shivered. “Goodness now I’m all goosepimply!” He held out his arms with a shaky laugh. “I called the dogs, whistled and shouted until I thought I might drop and they came through the grass. They came up to me and I said, ‘Let’s go home, luvvies, right? Home!’ and they led me along. We came up a rise and on the other side of it was the barn! I looked behind me and saw what I was supposed to see. _Here_ , looking off to the West and the edge of the property. But that’s not where I was. _Before_ , I mean.”

“I think you **did** get a touch of sunstroke, Fred,” Roger said. “You’ve been out in it all day.”

“But I grew up in a climate far warmer than this one,” Freddie insisted. “I’m used to it!”

“Yes but you haven’t lived there for such a long time now,” John noted. “It certainly seems the most logical explanation.”

“Unless…” Brian began, speaking so softly it might have been a whisper.

“Unless what?” Roger replied, his voice mocking. “Are you saying there’s some kind of warp in the world here?”

Brian smirked. “Stories come from _somewhere_ , after all. And who’s to say, but no, I don’t believe in ley lines and all that rubbish.”

“Then what?” the other challenged.

Brian shrugged again. “I just rather wonder what they say about this place, is all.”

“Frank didn’t mention anything like that,” John pointed out.

“And why would he, even if it were a known legend?” Roger countered.

“I’d say that’s rather rock n’roll, actually,” Freddie said, looking into his teacup as if it contained some augury. “The occult and all that.”

“That **is** a bit ridiculous, moreso than if there were some kind of spatial anomaly,” Brian responded.

“But that's just science fiction!” Roger insisted.

“An anomaly is a failure of symmetry,” Brian replied, helping himself to another slice of cake. “And if a physical phenomena falls out of sync somehow, it will produce an anomaly. It **is** possible, just not proven.”

Roger responded with a bug-eyed look of extreme skepticism, to which John and Freddie offered shrugs.

“Perhaps I did have rather too much wine at lunch,” Freddie murmured. “Or maybe it’s the fairies.”

They all laughed, and Roger rolled his eyes.

“We sing about fairies, we don’t believe in them.”

“My mum likes to say it doesn’t matter if you believe in _them_ , but if they believe in **you**.” Brian said with a grin.

“I only want to meet the nice ones, but they really _aren’t_ nice, are they?” Freddie asked, and though he meant it to be rhetorical they all found themselves nodding.

“I do remember my nan setting out a saucer of milk for the fae,” Roger said. “I used to think she was terribly provincial.”

Ratty poked his head into the parlour. “I’m s’posed to tell you dinner’s at seven, gents.”

“Thank you, dear,” Freddie replied, waving a dismissive hand.

“What say we _all_ walk over to the pool and back,” Roger suggested.

“Well nothing’s going to happen _now_ ,” Freddie replied. “Just to make me look like a blithering idiot.”

“Did you pick up the pebble?” Brian asked. “The one you said you stepped on?”

“Did I? Well I should think I did, but then I dropped it again. I certainly don’t have it now.”

“Look in the pocket of your robe, dear,” Brian suggested.

Freddie stuck a hand into the dressing gown he had donned over his bather and his face changed from curiosity to astonishment in an instant. The others leaned in as he opened it to reveal a smooth gray stone.

“I’ll be damned,” he whispered.

“What does that have to do with _anything_?” Roger demanded.

They all looked at Brian who sat back on the sofa with lips pursed and brow furrowed.

“Fairy gifts,” he said.

 

 

At dinner, as an ensemble they were subdued, but entirely grateful for the hearty repast they were provided at each meal. Continuing to abide in reduced circumstances made them appreciate when they were treated as they believed they should be. Three of them tucked into _boeuf en croute_ , with one pastry parcel specifically marked with a sprig of thyme for their guitarist, as it was full of mushrooms and onions rather than the traditional filet. He gave the matron of the house a dazzling smile.

“Ta, Mrs. Andrews,” Brian said, saluting her with his fork, and she nodded to him with a smile of her own.

Their appetites were voracious - _must be this country air they speak about_ \- and even Freddie ate more than he normally might when not served one of his favorite Indian dishes. The wine flowed, and eventually they fell back into their normal bonhomie with laughter and teasing and a united sense of connection which had formed much like calluses upon their weary souls. Despite the growing sense that this was indeed their last chance to prove to everyone else that they deserved to be as financially successful as they already believed themselves to be from an artistic standpoint, the insular world of their own creation was the only one they truly desired to inhabit.

“Are we ready to go down The Royal Oak then?” John inquired, pushing himself from the table with a contented sigh.

“I am very much in favor of a pint,” Brian assented.

“Or two or three,” Roger added.

“But you haven’t had your pudding!” Mrs. Andrews exclaimed as she entered to clear their plates.

“Dear lady, your meals are simply too satisfying to entertain another bite!” Freddie proclaimed with a grin.

“Oi, and you eating so little, Mr. Fred,” she chided, then patted his hand. “But thank you, dear.”

“If you’d care to leave it out,” Brian suggested, “and we can have it as we like later.”

“It’s profiteroles, so they’ll be in the icebox if you’re wanting. Coffee in the percolator as well.”

“Thank you,” they told her with the full force of their collective charm. They made their way out of the dining room and as Mrs. Andrews carried a stack of plates into the kitchen she wondered if all the bands who would come to stay would be as nice as these boys.

 

They stood in the driveway, blinking at the surrounding darkness which was still a novelty for them as city-dwellers.

“Should we…” Brian began.

“Walk? Not on your life!” Freddie exclaimed.

They all chuckled and made their way to John’s beloved Silver Bullet, with the owner grumbling that Brian might have to hang his legs out the window.

 

 

“It’s too dark in here for a snap!” Freddie exclaimed, widening his eyes over his pint as Brian pointed his camera at the other across the booth. Roger and John were having a game of darts, cursing when their arrows went wide of the mark.

“It’s always too dark in a pub!” Roger called out. “For good reason!”

“Who’s winning?” Freddie asked and Roger blew a raspberry.

“That rotter Deacon, of course!” he gibed, coming to the table and draining his glass. “I believe it’s your turn to go,’ he said to Brian, who dutifully rose and gathered the empty glasses. “One more?” he asked, and they all grunted their assent. He walked over to the bar and hailed the landlord, who drew another round of pints. Brian made to pay him but he raised a hand.

“We just send the tab to the farm, no bother,” he said.

“Thanks, then. Say, do you know any local legends of Rusper?” 

“Wot kinda legends are you meaning, then?” the barman asked. He pushed four glasses across to Brian’s waiting hands.

“Anything unusual?”

“Hmm. You talkin’ spectres, then? Will o’the wisp and such?”

“How about fairies?”

The other gave him a laughingly skeptical look but then ran a cloth over the oaken surface and shrugged.

“Tell me of a county which doesn’t have such stories?”

Brian chuckled and nodded.

“Why d’ye want to know?”

“I’m, uh, writing a song, you see, and thought it might make for an interesting subject.”

“I thought that’s what you lot sung about all the time.”

“That’s Freddie’s thing, not mine. But I thought I might.”

“Ah you bugger!” Roger exclaimed from across the room, and John laughed in his triumph.

“S’pose I won’t be naming my first-born after you then, eh?” 

Brian laughed along with his bandmates and when he turned to look back at the barman, the man was gone. He looked down the bar at the landlady who met his gaze with a questioning glance.

“Did ye need anything else, dearie?” she asked, and he shook his head.

 

 

“Rog, you’ve got to get the time sorted, you keep drifting!” Freddie insisted.

The countryside was indifferent to their labours, but thankfully the family didn’t particularly mind their hours. Playing late into the night was natural to their way of creating, memories of the odd hours kept in the pursuit of their first endeavors inevitably came to mind. And the barn was much cooler then as well, though a bit musty.

“It’s a waltz, it’s supposed to drift, to roll a bit. You just lay on top of it, y’see.”

“If you’re only going to have me do the overdubs then I don’t see why we have to play it at all, then,” Brian said.

“I need to hear the shape of it,” Roger replied. “Because I’m still not quite certain about it.”

“It’s fine, it’s brill,” John assured him. “Don’t be so picky!”

“Yeah you do get a bit too picky,” Brian agreed.

“Can we just run it through, then? I’m bored of it already,” Freddie griped.

“Right then,” Roger agreed. “Ready? One, two, three, and -”

As he hit his crash to begin the song, the power cut out. They inhabited the sudden darkness holding a collective shocked breath.

“Uh, darlings, are you there?” Freddie called out after a moment.

“Yeah,” the others responded.

“So now what? I can’t see a fucking thing!”

“Bri, isn’t there a torch near you? Swore I saw one earlier on top of the amps,” John said.

“Is there? Hmm.” Brian took a moment to attempt to get his bearings. He looked up through the cupola at the sky, and although stars were visible they weren’t particularly bright.

_How odd._

He placed his sixpence plectrum in his pocket and stepped backwards carefully till he could touch his line of amps. He ran his hand slowly across the top waiting for an object to meet his fingertips.

“Ah -”

“Found it?”

“No, it’s a tuning fork.”

“Oh now I can see the door,” Freddie said. “I see lights from the stables.”

The stables had been converted to living quarters for the family, and Brian frowned, not expecting anyone but them would be up so late.

“Christ, I know I’m not going to be able to climb out from behind here without knocking over _everything_ ,” Roger groused.

John began snickering and Brian and Freddie joined in.

“Fuck you all,” Roger retorted, making each word its’ own utterance.

“My eyes have adjusted well enough,” Brian said. “I’ll help you out.”

He unplugged the Old Lady and moved over to the kit, reaching out to the other.

“Here, take my hand, I’ll pull you in the right direction.”

Roger did so, moving very cautiously until he was free of the corner the drums had been placed in.

“Need to have Harris look the fuses over in the morning,” John noted as they carefully made their way out through the barn door. “Can’t have this happening every day.”

“I should say not,” Brian replied. “Never get anything done if the power keeps going out.”

“Are you bringing Fireplace to bed with you, lad?” Freddie teased. “You’re not that lonely for Chrissy, are you?”

“Ha ha - I just don’t feel right ‘bout leaving her in there, is all.”

The rest gave exaggerated _uh-huh_ s in reply and they made their way back to the farmhouse. They found that the power was indeed still working inside and once in the kitchen Roger took a plate of profiteroles out of the icebox, setting them on the table. John put a tentative hand to the percolator on the nearby counter.

“Coffee’s hot if you’re wanting.”

Brian selected one of the pastries and nodded at the others. 

“I’m for bed, then - sleep well, gents.”

His bandmates wished him the same and Brian made his way to slumber, up the creaking stairs and down the creaking hall. He laid his guitar upon the chair in the bedroom, happily devoured the sweet, had a final piss and rinsed his face in the bathroom sink, shed his clothes, opening the window to the still-warm night. He sighed, ruffling his hair, and glanced at his naked body.

 _Hmm._ He wondered why he was compelled to nudity in this place. He didn’t believe the heat was reason enough, as he and Chrissy had endured many a stifling night in their bedsit but sleeping in the buff had never occurred to him. He was suddenly too tired to ponder his motives and climbed between the sheets

...he blinked. It was very dark. He looked towards the window, wondering why he couldn’t see the stars

...gasping. It was still dark but there was a light, an illumination, _somewhere_

...he sat up, there was something heavy in his hand, but it was too dark to see what it was. He reached out and placed it on the nightstand with a _clunk_. He thought it was his sixpence but why was it _there_ and not in the pocket of his trousers?

A rap at the door. He sat up, blinking to behold daylight. Had he slept? He didn’t truly feel as if he had.

He looked over and there was indeed _a coin_ on the nightstand. He dressed quickly and placed it in his pocket, grabbing the Old Lady and opening the door to the one who summoned him.

“You’ve nearly snoozed through brekkie, old bean,” Ratty told him. “But we saved you some.”

“My most sincere thanks, chum,” Brian said with a smile.

The dining room was empty, he could hear the others in the lounge. There was a plate with a meatless fry-up set at one of the places and he sat down before it, feeling ravenous. He placed his guitar on the chair next to him and set about eating, pausing to pour himself a cup of tea.

“Brian - we’re going to the barn, Harris says he’s got the fuses sussed,” Roger called to him from the other room.

“Right then, I’m almost finished,” he replied, and mopped up the various liquidy bits with his toast, making certain to clean his hands with his napkin. He took up his cup of tea with one hand, the Old Lady with the other, and made his way to the barn. Everyone assumed their places and then proceeded to argue for the next fifteen minutes about what they should be working on next. Brian plugged in, made some adjustments, and reached into his pocket. What he pulled out was decidedly **not** his sixpence.

His mouth hung open in confusion as he regarded the item. It appeared to be a coin, a very old coin, but not the 1949 minted sixpence he had placed in his pocket the night before. This coin was... _strange_. He had no idea of its’ origins and he couldn’t find any discernible numbers or letters upon either side.

“Bri - are you ready with any of your songs?’ Freddie asked. “Are you listening, dear?”

“Right,” he said, placing the coin back in his pocket and grabbing a sixpence from the top of one of his amps. “The main bit is in E - you should play behind the beat, Rog.” He played the riff and they fell in behind him, waiting for him to call out the changes.

The coin felt so very _heavy_ in his pocket.


	3. “Be not so beautiful, child, for you will call their avid eyes.”

By the second week of their idyll John had quietly and politely requested his colleagues to limit their phone conversations as he was unsure of when the all-important summons might come. They were all amenable to this request, content enough in each other’s company and the peace of their surroundings - tempted, in a sense, to hide from the outside world where there was trouble enough. John had also been the one selected as the special liaison to their new financial associate who was now in the thick of negotiations with their former keepers.

“Yes, I am wholly aware we’ve cost them a lot of money,” they heard John stating in a mid-morning call as they lounged in the game room and busied themselves with a half-hearted attempt at snooker. “But I certainly wouldn’t put it past them to have cooked the books regarding specific amounts. Where is the money coming from to support their flashy acquisitions? I’ll tell you: directly from _our_ pockets!”

“Deaky’s such a blessing,” Freddie noted. “Can’t see any of us getting so stroppy over money.”

“Never particularly had any, so I don’t know what it’s like to be annoyed by the lack,” Roger said.

“One doesn’t need money to be happy -” Brian began, only to receive a razzing from his bandmates. “ **But** ,” he continued, “we deserve the compensation we’ve worked for.”

“Worked our fingers to the absolute bone for,” Freddie asserted, and they all nodded.

That evening, as they hovered over a game of Cluedo in the parlour the telephone peeled and Freddie shot to his feet.

“I believe it’s Mary, dears, I’ll keep it brief.” 

But then a moment later Freddie was calling for Brian to come to the phone. He looked puzzled but assured John he would also make it quick.

“It’s Chris,” Freddie whispered, handing him the receiver.

“Hi sweetheart,” Brian said in greeting.

“Oh goodness you lot are thick - I tried to tell Freddie to put Deaky on the line!”

“Well hello to you too, miss.”

“I’m not faffing about, May, I need to talk to John right bloody _now_.”

Brian felt a strange hiccup within him. “Right then, hang on.” He put a hand over the mouthpiece and called out to the other.

“It’s Chrissy, maybe she’s been to see V?” he said as John came to the phone.

“H’llo Chrissy. She has? When? Oh, alright then. Yes, tell her I’m coming straightaway, I’ll meet them at the hospital. Right, thank you.”

John handed over the phone and met three pairs of expectant eyes.

“Chris was having a visit when V’s doctor rang and said it was time to come in, so they’re on the way.”

“Well there’s no time to lose, dear, get cracking!” Freddie exclaimed, shooing John upstairs to pack his overnight bag.

“Sorry for the confusion, luv,” Brian said when he got back on the line.

“It’s all a bit harried here at the mo,” Chrissy replied, “so I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“It’s alright, but is everything okay?”

“Yes, she’s fine. But when the doctor says it’s time, then it’s time.”

“Of course. Has it been warm there?”

Chrissy heaved a sigh. “Utterly stifling. But actually it’s been pleasant at school, the heat makes the kids torpid as blowflies, quite easier to manage!”

Brian laughed. “Oh I used to wish for days like that!”

“Yes I remember. So are you lot getting it done, then? I should imagine it’s rather more nicer there.”

“It’s fairly hot, but yes it’s quite lovely here, and we’re making headway on the songs, just the usual amount of bloodshed.”

Chrissy laughed. “I’d better ring off, I think everyone is ready to leave. I’ll be at your parents’ on Sunday as usual for your call.”

“Okay luv, speak soon. Give V and her family our best. Love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you too, Bri.”

Brian hung up just in time to see John dash down the stairs with hurried farewells and promises to phone when all was well, then he was out the door and quickly drove his Silver Bullet off the property, pointed in the direction of London.

Roger waved and called out, “Good luck, Johnnie!” to the fading taillights, then walked back into the farmhouse. Brian paused at the gate and looked up at the deepening twilight, appreciative of what was revealed among the heavens in these environs.

“Ah, the first offspring of our enterprise!” Freddie enthused, leaning against the archway. “How exciting! I love babies, I told Kash she must have as many as possible.”

Brian chuckled. “And what did she say to that suggestion?”

“Oh she’s in favour of it, she’s quite happy with Roger.”

“That’s good then, considering what a gauntlet you made him walk.”

Freddie pouted. “But I didn’t! I wish I had, but we were on the road, remember? Of course Papa-ji wouldn’t have allowed it without a thorough investigation.”

Brian’s expression turned serious. “Would they have tried to make an arranged marriage?”

Freddie’s answering laugh was scornful. “As if **I** would have stood by for that! Removed her from the house before I’d allow something so barbaric!”

“Well, it’s tradition and all,” Brian countered. “But I take your point.”

“Speaking of, Mr. May -”

“What?” Brian replied, drawing out the ‘a’ in a way which indicated to the other he knew where the conversation was headed.

“When are **you** going to do the honourable thing, eh?”

Brian sighed. It was a question he’d been struggling to respond to for _years_.

“When I can bloody well afford it! You know what Deaky had to go through, it was disgraceful.”

“Well that’s rather what the registry is for, you know.”

“Chrissy deserves a big wedding, her parents can’t afford it, and if I _don’t_ go through with one then her family are going to think I’m a rotter, as if they don’t have a dodgy enough opinion of me already. And we are _absolutely_ moving out of that fucking bedsit!”

“So **that’s** your reasoning then?”

Brian remained silent long enough to provide the actual answer. “Yes,” he replied.

“So are we finishing this game, then?” Roger called out from the house.

“Let’s go down the pub and drink to our new addition. I wonder if they have champers?” Freddie said.

“If you won’t walk - have to ask Rog how much petrol he's got.”

“Darling I do **not** walk in the country!”

“Oh it’s a long-standing rule, then?” Brian gibed with a smirk.

“Ironclad!”

Brian shook his head in amusement. Walking back towards the house he shouted, “Rog - will your car make it to The Royal Oak?”

“Not bloody likely unless they’ve got some petrol knocking about here.”

“Sorry Fred, looks like we’re grounded for the mo.”

“I’m going to ask Frank if we can borrow a car.”

The others shrugged. Freddie undertook his inquiry and Roger and Brian stared at the gameboard.

“Hmm, Colonel Mustard in the library with the lead pipe,” Brian guessed after looking at his cards.

“Miss Scarlett in the conservatory with a candlestick,” Roger deduced next.

Brian chuckled. “She has got rather a wicked arm, Miss Scarlett does.”

“Should we let Fred have a guess, then?”

“He’ll raise a ruckus if we don’t.”

Freddie returned triumphant with a set of car keys. “It’s the saloon parked over by the barn, he said.” He noticed them looking down at the board. “Mrs. Peacock in the lounge with the knife,” he stated without looking at his cards or inquiring after the deductions of his fellow players.

Roger took the envelope from the center spot and opened it. He then looked at Freddie with open-mouthed annoyance.

“How is it you _always_ win this game?” he cried.

“Sherlock Holmes you’re **not** ,” Brian added.

“I **am** a genius, darlings, when needs must,” Freddie replied and the others cracked up.

 

 

John phoned the next day to report Veronica was now in labour but her doctor had gone off to play golf, so it could take hours. He was annoyed that he’d not been allowed to remain in the room once her labour had begun, but was maintaining a vigil in the Father’s Lounge while her mother and sister were present at bedside for support and comfort.

“Does it take rather a long time, then?” Brian asked.

“Typically,” John said. “But what were all those antenatal classes for then if I can’t be in there?!”

“I’m sorry Deaks, it sounds terribly unfair.”

“So what’s doin’ then?”

“Tony’s making the arrangements for the _Music Life_ people to visit next week - but will you be back?”

“Yeah, I suspect the hens will shoo me off once the sprog is here, so I reckon I’ll be back by Monday.”

“All right then, I’ll be sure to tell him. They’re staying overnight, he said.”

“They are?”

“Yes, it’s supposed to be an in-depth article so they suggested ‘A day with Queen’ and they’ll just follow us around doing whatever it is we do.”

“I s’pose we ought to actually look busy then.”

Brian snickered. “And they said something about a party? Bringing gifts? They do so love their gifts, the Japanese do.”

“I reckon I still won’t get a camera out of it!”

“Maybe if you ask the Watanabes very nicely next time.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if the whole world felt the same way about us as the Japanese do?”

“They will, even if I have convince every single one of them of it.”

John laughed, and Brian was glad of the sound. “Well let Rog talk all _the girls_ into it, any road.”

 

 

“Tell me of the child,” she said.

Brian was confused. He found himself entangled with _her_ once again upon the soft moss of her bower, the air balmy, with the slightest hint of bells in the breeze, and this time they _were_ coupled. The feeling was nigh indescribable, a deep velvety heat which enclosed him, but she also opened herself to him in a way he had never experienced, as if there was no stopping the ultimate motion of his thrusts. A momentum leading him to an unknown destination. His body was alive with the most exquisite agony, the precipice of joy so intense he might lose all sense.

And her voice echoed as it had before, going around his head, a din within his brain.

“What child?” he felt more than heard himself reply.

“There is a child, it is by rights ours to claim,” she said, and then she tightened around him and he felt as though he lay within the grasp of granite, hard meeting hard and there was no denying its’ grip.

“Whose child?” he gasped, so ready to burst at the taunt pressure which held him fast.

“The child. Give us the child.” Her voice grew louder by degrees, his ears rang and his cock ached and her eyes looked into him with their colorless distance.

_the child the child the child the child the child the child_

“Aaaah!” Brian sat up in bed, clutching the sheets and panting. His heart seemed to knock against his ribcage as if it wanted to flee not only his body, but the place in which he was now and had been in sleep. He slumped sideways, struggling to breathe, body tense from head to toe in the throes of hyperarousal. As he lay there he was aware of a stickiness on his groin and groaned.

_How could a dream be so intensely erotic and terrifying all at once?_

He sat up again, shakily climbing out of bed in search of a flannel to clean himself with. Just before he made to open the bedroom door he heard it.

_What_

It was so far off at first he wasn’t certain what it could be, only that it was a sound which did not belong within the night. There was an ordering principle behind it, but he couldn’t understand it. He strained to hear it. His cock twitched and he frowned, but willed himself to stand still and suss it out.

_is_

A distant noise, insinuating itself among the crickets and the birds and frogs. The raucous chorus of the night. A sound which grew in vibration if not in volume.

_**that?!** _

And then - was it _a song_? Was someone awake and playing a record?

The house was dead silent save for various creaks, and a vague scuttle of mice in the walls.

Those sounds, those were all logical. But the other…

His hand froze on the doorknob. He heard it now. It was indeed a song. A song no one human had known. Save himself at this very moment.

_Brian._

He jumped at the whisper in his right ear, clutching his chest and sobbing. Discomfort be damned, he got back into bed and willed himself to utter stillness until the sky went from black to crimson, repeating _there is nothing here with me_ to himself over and over, like a litany against madness.


	4. ...everything is our dream.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter comes from another Hesse story but in the same collection ( _Märchen_ ) as the one mentioned. And I am taking one historical liberty by including Crystal, as he didn't work for the band until later on, but he and Ratty are so much fun to write!

In their current circumstance, Brian’s birthday had been declared a band holiday - and it was unusual that they were actually together in the domestic sense to observe it - but he wasn’t particularly fussed given the rigours of their existing schedule. They had been productive in the week prior (and not the first time in their history they were down a man), working out enough arrangements in order to achieve efficiency in the studio when they arrived in Wales the following month.

To awaken to birdsong, the scents of a warm day and an expectant mood of discovery...Brian lay in bed staring out the nearby window at the sky, humming to himself. He hadn’t felt this way since he was a child.

The humming sounded louder around him than inside his head. He stopped.

But it continued.

 

Hair dripping from his weekly washing and dressed in blessedly clean clothes (thanks to the matron of the house allowing the use of her Hoover washer for their togs), Brian padded downstairs to find Freddie draped on the sofa engrossed in a crossword puzzle, while Roger, Ratty and Crystal were playing fetch with the dogs out on the lawn.

“Happy returns of the day, my dear,” Freddie murmured, not looking up from his magazine.

“Thank you, dear,” he replied. “Don’t feel a day over 80!”

Freddie chuckled. “Tie one on tonight and I guarantee you’ll be feeling 110.”

Brian guffawed as he pushed open the door to the dining room. The toast rack on the sideboard was full, cloches of butter and jam and clotted cream awaited his pleasure along with a pot of tea. _Oooh decadence!_ he thought with a smile, recalling how his mum used to prepare his favorite breakfast on his birthday but wouldn’t fuss about it, merely present it as if to say: _Well what else would I make on this day?_

In a few minutes he was well stuck-in, and before he knew it all the toast was gone. He normally didn’t eat so much in the morning, their residence had been truly luxurious in that respect.

_I suppose things do taste better in the country._

Brian finished off his tea, went upstairs to don socks and clogs and grab his cameras. During their stay he had been taking photos all along of the band and various visitors but not many of the property itself and he wanted to remedy that oversight. He carefully checked to ensure each camera had a new roll of film, and slung the cases on his shoulder. He wondered what it would take to get the dogs to accompany him.

_It’s not superstition, it’s common sense._

He avoided the mirror in the bathroom when pausing for a piss because he thought he’d be able to tell that he was making the sort of excuses he shouldn’t be. Again.

 

Brian emerged onto the veranda to find Roger stretched out on one of the chaises reading a newspaper while Ratty and Crystal squared off over a game of cribbage. The dogs came up to him, wagging their tails, and he dropped to his haunches to give them a good scratch. They sniffed at him and he laughed.

“Sorry dears, no food this time.”

“Bri, did you see, _Apollo_ - _Soyuz_ completed the hookup the other day.”

“Did they? I haven’t read a paper in a few days now.”

Roger handed him the article in question.

“Brilliant! Now doesn’t that just give one hope,” he said, smiling over the text.

“Publicity stunt!” Roger teased, sticking out his tongue with a grin.

“Oh fuck off, cynical slag! It’s _monumental_ , I’m telling you.”

“I’ve no doubt, but to what end?”

“Because _we can_.”

Roger shook his head and opened another section of newspaper.

“Gonna have walkies, if these pups will come along - c’mon darlings, come with me.”

The dogs made whimpering noises of potential curiosity, then roused themselves to follow.

Brian looked back and the guys had returned to their activities, almost as if he hadn’t been there a moment before. Though it was true that in the sort of intensified togetherness fishbowl life the band was now experiencing a certain casual obliviousness was required to survive. He too had learned how to ignore his surroundings when necessary.

But this place...it was speaking to him, somehow. In a profound sort of way.

“So are we bringin’ in the local talent tonight?” he heard Crystal ask Roger, and Roger’s answering laugh, but then the sounds seemed to be swallowed up as Brian walked by the pool. 

By the time he reached the point where the path forked off towards the Granary, all was nearly still save the birds and the wind. He paused but the dogs continued on, stopping to sniff the grass and bushes in various places. He turned back to take some photos of the view from that vantage point, but he couldn’t see anything beyond the immediate landscape. He was close enough to the pool that he should have seen that area, at least. He took a few steps forward again, expecting to come alongside the pool at any moment but he didn’t. He could make out the barn through the trees on his right but it seemed incredibly far-off again, as if something was throwing off his depth perception. He brought his stereoscopic camera to his eyes and the scene resolved itself to what he expected to see, as if he were looking at a photograph placed over the lenses.

“Oh bloody hell,” he whispered. Brian took the camera away from his eyes and it all vanished.

He felt light-headed at that moment, looking up towards the sky which remained blue with a progression of clouds coming from the East, the sun giving forth the light and heat he so craved. It was all so _ordinary_ , in a sense.

 _I can’t be seeing two different things, it’s just **not** possible._ He looked through the lens again and the surroundings as he knew them to be appeared once more. He wondered what would happen if he tried to walk back the way he came without viewing it through his camera. He tried his other camera, which was a regular Pentax ES 2 SLR. 

He was unable to bring the lens into focus at all. Photographing _anything_ would have been impossible.

He felt partly mystified, partly afraid, and partly fascinated.

It was then he heard his name being shouted, as if from very far off. He wasn’t entirely certain how he could tell it was his name, but he had an innate belief that it was.

“Hey!” he yelled back. “I’m up here, past the pool! Can you hear me?!”

He heard footsteps, suddenly loud, and Ratty appeared further down the path.

“Bri, the dogs came back without you - you’ve been gone an hour so we got a bit tense.”

“Have I?” Brian asked, feeling himself turn cold again.

 

Mrs. Andrews made a special treat of potted shrimps with salad and brown bread for lunch and everyone was appreciative. Brian saw Freddie whispering to her as she served them and smirked to himself. He wondered what kind of delicacy he could look forward to at supper. It was nice to be spoiled, even if his primary emotion was a particular reflexive guilt. His earlier vague terror had not wholly departed, but once back at the farmhouse he felt relieved. And _hungry_.

They had all agreed that they’d save the actual party for Roger’s birthday - which was exactly a week later - and so this evening was meant to be a low-key affair of epic Scrabble battles, drinking, and perhaps even a hootenanny of sorts later on if they weren’t too legless to manage it.

“The country is the _only_ place to find proper salad,” Roger declared, smiling down at the plate of fresh-looking lettuce, cucumber and spring onion.

“Right out of our garden it is,” she declared and departed with smiling aplomb.

“Ratty, did you say you might have a surprise for the Birthday Boy tonight?” Freddie asked with a mischievous grin as he buttered a piece of bread.

Their tech offered a similar grin and then made an explosive noise and gesture as punctuation.

“You’re going to scare the animals!” Brian protested, topping his greens with a generous dab of salad cream.

“Nah, I got a few fancy fireworks is all, just bang-bang pop-pop, Bob’s yer uncle!”

“Don’t be a wet end, May, it’s supposed to be a bit of a larf,” Roger chided.

“Heaven forbid we do anything sensibly,” Brian quipped, but said no more either for or against.

After lunch Ratty and Crystal were dispatched to obtain needed supplies for the evening, and Freddie went off to phone Mary. Brian and Roger were left at the table to finish the wine and Brian reached into his pocket.

“What do you make of this, then?” he asked, handing over the object.

“It’s one of your sixpence,” Roger declared.

“Look closer.”

Roger squinted at the object. “Heavy,” he noted, weighing it in his palm. “Is it a coin? Those markings are weird. Where did you find it?”

“It found _me_.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I was, but I didn’t find it, I swear. I woke up with it in my hand a few nights ago. I thought it was my sixpence, but when I looked at it the next day -”

He trailed off before he was apt to say something foolish like _I think **she** gave it to me_.

“You had to have been dreaming! I wouldn’t doubt you picked it up somewhere.”

Brian shrugged.

“Is that a star?” Roger asked, pointing to one side.

Brian peered at it. “Yeah; I thought it was a compass star but there’s only seven points.”

“How can you bloody tell?”

“I looked at it with a magnifier.”

“And what’s this thing on the other side?”

“I dunno, it looks familiar but I can’t figure it. There’s no writing on it at all - not even a mint mark, if it **is** a coin, that is.”

“What could it possibly be, if not a coin?”

“Some kind of decorative object, mayhap.”

“Why don’t you ask the Andrews if they’ve found any antiquities here. This place is 16th Century, isn’t it?”

“I believe so; it would certainly explain finding something like that here. But I’m telling you, Rog, I didn’t _find_ it.”

“So what are you suggesting, then?”

“I don’t know. But this is a _weird_ place.”

“Is this about the fairies again? Are you off your head?”

“Why don’t you walk out to the pool and see what happens to **you**.”

Roger blinked at Brian, a certain understanding shaping his expression.

“Are you saying -”

“I don’t know if I was lost. But I _lost track_ , as it were.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I would have sounded mad, like you already think I am.”

“There’s no way to truly know, is there? You felt it was only a few minutes, but time is relative.”

“ _I know._ I am absolutely aware of that, but I believe right down to my bones that I know how long an hour is and I was **not** standing there for an hour. I hadn’t even gone that far from the house!”

“We’ve been all around the property, haven’t we, there’s nothing untoward as far as I can tell.”

Brian sighed and took back the - well, _whatever_ it was - from Roger’s hand.

“Consider yourself fortunate, I’d say.”

 

He wandered outside and lay upon one of the chaises, looking over Roger’s discarded newspaper, but none of what he read sunk into his mind. He was thinking instead of a story he had read years ago, one of Hesse’s so-called fairytales, “Strange News from Another Star.” A young man had been dispatched from his village to visit their king, to beg for assistance as a great disaster had befallen their land. Up in the mountains he had encountered a strange temple, and found an even stranger artifact. The messenger slept in the temple and had a vision of a great dark bird who had asked after his troubles, then informed him there were worse things to mourn.

These dreams he was having, could they have some actual meaning? Could someone be trying to tell him something?

Brian felt himself starting to doze off and jerked awake, pulling at his hair. He went inside, feeling a touch of nauseous agoraphobia at the thought of waking up and finding himself somewhere wholly unknown to him.

And yet..he couldn’t deny that he wondered who _she_ was.


	5. emergence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will note that this chapter does take a particular inspiration from _Wylding Hall_ but as not to spoil it for anyone who hasn't read it and might want to, I'll not name what it is specifically.

In scorn of which I sailed to find her  
in distant regions likeliest to hold her  
whom I desired above all things to know,  
sister of the mirage and echo.  
\- Robert Graves, _The White Goddess_

 

The sun lower in the sky but still blazingly bright, the shadows growing long. Brian stood on the veranda, his tea and biscuits forgotten, straining to hear something he thought he had heard. A sound far-off but growing in volume.

“Do finish your cuppa, Bri,” Freddie chided. “There’s a bee what keeps trying to crawl in for a swim.”

He imagined a caffeinated bee and it amused him, his mouth quirked slightly. But he couldn’t take his eyes from the path to the pool, appearing innocuous beneath the strong sunlight of the day.

_Am I really seeing what is there?_

His curiosity was at least somewhat satisfied by the sight and sound of Ratty and Crystal’s return in the van. They were greeted by a variety of hails, and one of the daytime staff had come up from the barn to assist in the offloading of their purchases for the evening. All residents were invited to their casual knees-up, and arrangements had been made accordingly.

“Bri,” Ratty called from the tea table, “got your snaps for ya.”

The two had gone into Horsham which offered a one-hour photo mini lab among other things, as Brian had given Ratty several rolls of film to develop. He took the envelopes from the other, gently brushed the bee from the rim of his cup, and seated himself on one of the chaises to look through the finished photos, immediately setting aside the shots which didn’t meet his hobbyist standards. One particular afternoon he had been curious to know how well his camera would perform against a professional-grade Nikon, and so had shadowed their photographer of the day, a guy named Chris who had already shot them several times over the past year. Chris was indulgent of the experiment, allowing Brian to stand alongside and in some cases lean over him as he took photos of Freddie, Roger and John at the outer gate and front entrance to the farmhouse. After a couple rolls they had moved over to the far end of the veranda, Brian dutifully taking his place with his colleagues, and this photographer had much the same complaint.

“Looking a bit dour, aren’t we?” Chris asked.

“This is my real face,” Freddie quipped, then crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. “Which do you prefer, dear?”

Another roll and then Brian was moving back behind the lens. The others groaned and Brian made a face of his own.

“You make a better grouping without me,” he declared.

“You do **not** believe that!” Roger gibed, which earned him a two-fingered salute from the other.

But the three moved in closer and as one regarded the camera with a particular assurance which Brian assumed had been missing from their previous attempt. People tended to believe as a band they were each too different to embody the cohesion they had worked long and hard to achieve, but the truth was that they understood each other in a way no one else could. They had to, in order to make it all work. There were those musicians who might think they desired massive success, but few wanted to work for it, and Queen truly did.

 _If I can ever figure out what to do with meself then I might actually amount to something_ , Brian thought ruefully.

There had been a - _flash?_ \- the sun glinting off something and causing a flare as he hit the shutter and he thought the shot would be a wash; yet only momentary as the pose before him was unchanged. Eventually he surrendered his secondary ambition and endured another hour or so of posing before the visitor had been plied with tea and sandwiches and sent back to the Big Smoke.

Photo after photo and Brian almost missed it at first. In some the focus or framing was off, in others there was movement and in one there was 

_(light)_

someone who wasn’t meant to be there.

 

 

Admittedly Brian was afraid to walk over to the barn, even as it was in full view of the house. He had to remind himself that they had all moved between the barn and the farmhouse for weeks now and no one had gotten lost. But he knew Frank and Billy were inside working on the build of the control room for the studio they were planning to open within the next year. As of now, Ridge Farm was merely a residential rehearsal facility, and thus the band had booked sessions at Rockfield in Wales for the actual recording of the backing tracks for the new album. Otherwise they would have been content to remain in Surrey.

At least Brian **would** have been content. Before things became _weird_.

“Where you going?” Roger called out. Brian could detect the note of curious concern, that’s how well they knew each other.

“To the barn,” Brian replied, waving a hand. 

He counted his steps on the way, and the dogs trailed him. As soon as he heard the sounds of construction and conversation he was grateful it wasn’t a mirage.

 _Well **of course** it isn’t_, the voice of his mind stated testily.

_Ah but things aren’t quite what they seem, are they?_

Is this what it felt like to lose one’s rationality? Brian abandoned the debate as soon as he entered the interior gloom, calling out for the brothers.

 

 

“I’ve not seen... _her_ ,” Frank told Brian after he looked at the photograph.

“But…” Brian prompted him.

“Some _thing_ familiar,” Billy concluded.

“So you believe it too, then?”

Frank looked embarrassed. “When my parents first bought this place they said the estate agent informed them they might be told stories by people in the village, but what can you say to something like that? Most wouldn’t take it seriously for a moment. But then -”

“But then something happened to you.”

“It was me first,” Billy explained. “Frank was on the road with you lot and I was exploring the place, we was considering what we might do with it, you see. I started the renos on the Granary, just clearing out the old equipment at first, and once I stayed past sunset. There was no current, but I had a lantern and a torch. I brought out some scrap, and from the pond across the way - have you seen it, then?”

Brian nodded.

“Something crawled out of it. It looked like a woman. It stared at me for what felt like forever, like time had stopped and there was only the two of us, staring each other down.”

“And then what?”

“I woke up in my own bed, and it was dawn.”

Brian remained silent for a long moment. Finally he asked, “Do you dream of her?”

Billy shuddered. “Oh lord no, and I’m grateful for that.”

“So she didn’t speak to you?”

“I feel like she tried to? In my mind? There was a sound, like swarms of bees, like cicadas, like the ocean during a storm. But no words.”

“Did she look like this one?”

“Similar. But she wasn’t human, and I was fully afeared.”

“But surely **she** -” Brian held out the photograph. “She doesn’t look _unnatural_.”

“Doesn’t she?” Frank replied.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Billy went on. “Who would believe me? But then Frank saw her too and he thought he was losing his mind.”

“Or having some kind of nutty flashback,” his brother added with a rueful laugh. 

“And so I told him what happened to me. I think it’s a naiad, a water sprite. We’ve told clients there’s mice so that they won’t want to use the place, but we can’t keep people from it. We tried - when we had labourers on the property earlier in the year, a couple blokes went to have their lunch there and they came back white as a sheet, talkin’ of a strange bird wandering about.”

“How do you know what she is?”

“Because she crawled right out of the pond, Brian,” Frank replied, his voice sharp. “As if **that’s** where she lived. She crawled out and stood before me, naked as birth, and she was glowing, somehow. And there was that sound, like Billy said. She wasn’t a woman though she took the form of one. All of these things I knew in that very moment.”

“And then what?”

Frank’s face became etched with anguish. “I can’t remember. God help me, I want to, but I _can’t_. Like Billy I woke up in my own bed as if it were a dream but _I saw her_. She came to me, and then...” He trailed off, running a hand through his long lank hair. “Billy thinks it’s a mercy but it troubles me sore.”

Brian sighed. “I haven’t mentioned this,” he held out the photo “to anyone yet, but I’ve been dreaming of her. I knew as soon as I saw.”

The brothers nodded in unison.

“And then there’s this.” He held out the coin - or whatever it was - upon his open palm. The two blanched and took a step back, also in seeming unison.

“Found it in your pocket?” Frank asked him.

“In my hand, while I slept. Freddie found a stone in his pocket the other day.”

“Trinkets for your favor,” Billy whispered.

“Fairy gifts,” Brian added.

“No one has been taken,” Frank said. “Not yet. And what can we do?”

“We learn to live with it, is what we do,” Billy declared. “I don’t know that they mean us specific harm.”

Brian thought about what else he could add to the evidence, but decided that they had all revealed enough for now.

“So no one has been lost? Lost and not come back?”

The two shook their heads.

“The dreams I’ve been having, they’re _disturbing_. But also -”

The look in Frank’s eyes told Brian he shouldn’t say anything further on that subject.

 

 

Dinner was truly lavish with poached salmon and several accompaniments on offer, and the matron of the house brought out two sponges and a sticky toffee for dessert; all in attendance sang to Brian and he blew out one of the candles on the table in lieu of the actual ritual.

 _I wish I knew what was happening to me_ , he thought, but he didn’t truly expect such a entreaty to be answered.

They toasted him with champagne and also offered toasts to John’s family and hopes of their own.

“Here’s to our new project, may it be as grand as we can possibly imagine,” Freddie declared.

“May it make lots of money,” Roger added with a cheeky grin.

“May we survive its’ creation,” Brian concluded with a wry smirk and there was laughter all around. He wasn’t entirely certain he was joking.

 

 

Freddie had been in the midst of a ribald tale involving a bath house they had all been invited to in Tokyo when the phone began ringing and he wobbled his way to it, flapping his arms about.

“Oh I’m coming dear, hold your knickers!” he shouted. “Hello, you’ve reached Mrs. Andrews’ Home for Wayward Pop Stars, state your business, please.”

The others laughed so loudly they didn’t hear Freddie’s side of the conversation until he let out with a shriek. “Oh it’s a boy!” he cried, grinning. “Deaky’s got an heir, everyone!”

Roger held up a shot glass. “Cheers to you Deaks, old bean.” He knocked it back and followed with a generous swallow from his pint.

This was followed by cheering and further laughter and then Freddie was calling Brian over to the phone. By that point he was a bit the worse for three pints and two shots of Southern Comfort, but relatively speaking he was not quite _pissed_.

“Deaky!” he exclaimed. “Congratulations!”

“Thanks Bri, and Happy Birthday to you. Sounds like quite a ‘do you’re having there.”

“Oh it’s just a night at home, you know. So tell me all ‘bout the happy event!”

“That can wait, I’ll be back on the morrow with some snaps of the wee bairn, but there’s something else I wanted to tell you.”

The tone of John’s voice was so dry and measured Brian found himself sobering up strictly from the sound.

“What is it?”

“Do you remember that day I brought my portable reel-to-reel to the barn to record that bit we couldn’t work out? So we could listen back?”

“That broken deck you found in the storage cupboard at Trident, right?”

“Yeah, the one I refurbished. I brought the tape back with me just to listen in my cans, and -”

“What?”

“There’s something very _weird_ on it.”

Brian lowered himself very slowly to the chair next to the console table, receiver gripped in his hand. “Can I hear it?”

“You can’t hear _all_ of it without cans, but there is one bit. Hang on.”

The noise of the party had become a distant murmur, as if this discussion had removed Brian from his immediate environs. He looked around just to assure himself that he was still there and not elsewhere, away from the drunken laughter and playful banter of the others.

“Right, I’ve moved the phone over to the speaker, just a mo -”

Brian listened as John advanced the recording to a particular point.

“I’m pressing play,” he heard John announce and the _clunk_ of placing the receiver next to the speaker. 

The tape warped into a brief flurry of music, a sequence quickly dissolving into chaos, followed by their collective semi-argumentative discourse and lampoonery. Just a typical day in the salt mines. Freddie could be heard complaining about Brian’s lead line then another voice cut in, low but clear enough.

“See you,” it said.

John shut off the recording and picked up the receiver. “Did you hear it?”

“Yeah,” Brian whispered. He swallowed and pulled at a stray ringlet. “Yes, I do.” This last was a louder reply.

“Before that, you can hear something under the music. But I can’t work out what it is. That bit, it startled me at first to hear it because it’s so clear. But -”

“There was no one there with us.”

“Ratty and Crystal were there, but neither of them were anywhere near the recorder, is what I mean to say.”

“Can you play it again?” Brian asked.

“Sure.” Brian heard the squeal of the tape rewinding, then that voice again.

_See you._

It was...well, the only word which came to mind was _malevolent_. Imbued with warning and malice.

“After that, nothing,” John continued. “Nothing like _that_.”

“Let’s not discuss it with the others, not yet,” Brian said. “But you think the other bits are voices too?”

“Maybe. Or music? Gives me something to ponder while this nipper squawks all night.”

“Is that normal?” 

“So they tell me. He’s healthy enough, they say.”

“And the name of this noisy chap?”

“Robert - we call him Robby already, though.”

“And mum is alright?”

“Yes. Knackered and a tad overwhelmed, but Nan is here to help.”

“I’m very happy for you.”

“Thanks. I’ll be seeing you this time tomorrow, then.”

“Right then, g’night.”

Brian rang off and sat there a moment, concentrating on his breathing, on the physical reality of his body. He was here, in the observable world, but something walked with the lightest touch up his spine and growled at the nape of his neck. Skin prickly with the tactile dread of observation.

_We **see** you._

 

 

The fireworks which Ratty and Crystal shot off from the road (smuggled back with the gear traveling by cargo ship from their Japanese tour) were brilliant - chrysanthemums and willows and peonies and comets - but none quite enough to shame the moon, which was waxing gibbous and looked almost unnaturally bright. Brian might have thought it was his state of mind causing that perception, but everyone remarked on it.

“Isn’t the moon ever so big!” Freddie noted when they assembled on the veranda to watch the display.

But the stars, they were still dim, and that wasn’t right. It had been troubling Brian for days now, a worry which squatted in the back of his mind, nibbling on his composure much as a moth larvae might decimate a drawer full of jumpers. Still, he laughed with delight and applauded to view the bright sparks, blooming jewel-like against the deep velvety blackness above. _Brighter_ than the stars, in a clear night sky.

Twenty-eight years on this earth...some of them good, some of them not so good. He had to remember to be grateful.

_Be grateful for every breath in every day._

But there was something missing. It could be ascribed to any number of things, he knew, and he suspected that the attainment of all of them would not alleviate the feeling that he was meant for something else, something he couldn’t define. Just a sense that he was outside of time, somehow. A sense that the world had so much more to show him, more than he could perceive.

The _romance_ of existence, from the classical definition of the word. Grand quests and heroic undertakings.

_You see me. Did I call you to me? What have you come to show me?_

The show concluded, everyone wandered back inside, clapping him on the back with jest and salutation alike. He stared into the darkness beyond the golden puddle of the farmhouse. He looked for _her_. That face, pale and delicate-boned, much as any classical rendition of such fancies made flesh. An otherworldly perfection. Those eyes, wide, and some color which was no color that he could discern. 

Her expression, looking beyond the lens and directly into his soul.

In one moment his three friends stood together and stared down the expectant scrutiny of their supposed audience. In the next, she stood beside them, but it was obvious that their expressions had not changed, remained fixed on the lens and on the image they sought to project. She equally had eyes for no other than the one who caught her in that sudden flash.

And in the next, the space was empty again and the band stared on.

They had no idea of her intrusion, she had no care for their presence.

_See **you**._

 

 

“I know you said no prezzies, but I couldn’t help myself, darling,” Freddie said, placing a thick sheet of drawing paper into his hands. Brian blinked, attempting to discern the image, but his inebriated state caused it to swim out of focus before his eyes.

“Gosh Fred, so very kind to grant me a masterpiece from your pen,” Brian said, his words only slightly slurred. 

Freddie laughed. “Oh fuck off, dearie, but I thought you might like it.”

Brian carefully placed it upon the trestle table behind the couch he had claimed - because he surmised the stairs were beyond his current abilities to scale - and grinned up at his bandmate.

“I shall cherish it always.”

The artist blew him a kiss and turned around to demand new players for the next game of Scrabble. Brian closed his eyes and allowed everything to wash over him: conversation and laughter and _Who’s Next_ on the stereo...he felt safe within that bubble of band life and all it had come to signify. Within moments he was asleep, without the expectation of nightmares.

 

 

The nightmare arrived in broad daylight when Brian awoke to a silent morning - everyone sleeping off their indulgences in various rooms of the farmhouse - and his first comprehending sight of Freddie’s gift.

Once again, _she_ stared into him from two-dimensionality like she might emerge from it and claim him for her own.


	6. now you see it

“Who is she?”

Freddie had two modes of style this early in the morning: either the one where he couldn’t be arsed to preen and therefore was unshaven, with unruly hair and a slightly unfocused expression, appearing in whatever he happened to throw on and venture into daylight, or the one in which he spent at least an hour making himself into the divine creature he desired to present to the world. But as Brian had dragged him out of his bed more than a bit hungover he was most definitely the former.

“An imaginary creature, dear! I thought you’d appreciate the gesture.”

“But she’s not!”

Freddie widened his deep brown eyes in smiling confusion. “But of course she is, I’m the one what drew her!”

“How did you manage to draw something from **my** dreams?!”

Freddie stared at Brian long enough that the other began to feel unnerved by the scrutiny.

“You’re **not** joking, are you?”

“No Fred; I wish I were, but -”

“I tell you, all I did was sit on the veranda the other day and think about what a fairy looks like. Thinking about all the fairies I’ve seen in books and paintings and such. I started sketching and before I knew it there she was. I wanted her to be pretty for you but beyond that, it wasn’t deliberate.”

“ _You_ haven’t dreamed of her, then?”

“I don’t particularly remember my dreams, you know that. Not like you do. Look, she must be based on something we’ve both seen then, that’s all.”

“Hmm.”

“You can’t honestly be suggesting -”

“Things are very weird, that’s all I mean to say. But don’t bring this up to Rog, he’ll just lecture me again about being a fool.”

“And why would you be foolish, darling?”

Brian rolled his eyes and sighed. “Don’t make me say it, dearie.”

Freddie grinned, a full-toothed teasing sort of grin which Brian would have been happy to have trained on him under normal circumstances.

“Do you _believe_ in fairies, then? You can tell your dear old Freddie all about it, luv.”

“I’ve always believed in _the idea_ of fairies. There, I’ve said it. I’m trusting you, you know.”

“And I believe in love at first sight. Doesn’t mean either of those things is less unreal than anything else.”

“You’re mocking me now for certain,” Brian said, looking chagrined.

Freddie took a weighty breath of sudden recognition. “Oh goodness, I’d forgotten; sorry dear. But I suppose I do as well. Remember, **I** wasn’t the one who said you’d lost your marbles after that infamous night.”

Brian nodded with solemn import. “I do remember that.”

Outside Freddie’s window they could hear the sounds of a car approaching.

“Sounds like the new father has returned,” Brian noted, rising from the bed.

“Go on then, I need a headache powder and a bit of a wash.”

Brian made a bow of thanks and came downstairs. The house was still quiet although he now heard the sounds of discreet industry in the kitchen and caught the scent of eggs and bacon. He had a sudden craving for a cup of tea and toast soldiers - he hadn’t eaten a soft-boiled egg in years. He shook his head and tried not to look too worried, but with the seeming psychic connection of their years-long association, John immediately sensed his distress.

“What now?” he asked, coming up the walk to where Brian stood in the doorway of the farmhouse.

“What?”

“Brian, you look like you’ve had a fright, so what happened?”

“Good morning Deaky, have you had your breakfast?”

John smiled and gave into Brian’s seeming desire for polite customs. “Good morning Brian, I had some very hard eggs at a caf on the way, so I could certainly be convinced to try again with Mrs. Andrews’ superior fare.”

Brian chuckled and made a gesture of welcome.

 

 

“Come to my room,” John said after they’d discussed recent matters over their fry-ups and several cups of tea. “There’s something else I thought of during all that time in the Father’s Lounge.”

“I wonder what happened to Fred, perhaps he decided he didn’t need to wake up after all,” Brian murmured as he followed John up the stairs.

“Knowing our boy as we do, he’s likely having a bath.”

True to John’s observation, once they reached the landing they could hear the other splashing and singing in the bathroom down the hall. John’s room was on the east side of the house, and the landscape from the windows revealed bits of the village in the distance. He stood in one particular spot, gesturing for Brian to stand next to him. He then pointed towards the window with his left hand.

“What is that?” he asked, the object of his inquiry in plain sight of their mutual gaze.

“It’s the church?”

“No, it’s not. Roger and I drove all around Rusper the day Freddie said he got lost, and we _saw_ the church. But it doesn’t have a tower, not like that.”

“Then what does that tower belong to?”

“Let’s table that question for the moment. C’mon.”

John left the room, Brian following with a curious expression. They entered Brian’s room further down the hall which faced north towards the pool. John leaned out the open window, looking towards the east, gesturing once again for Brian to stand alongside him.

“So what do you see from here?”

“The village,” Brian replied, leaning out as far as he dared.

“Is it the same view?”

“It seems to be. Funny, I never looked in this direction before.”

“So if it’s the same direction and the same view…”

Brian frowned, then epiphany followed immediately. “Where’s the tower?”

“Indeed,” John replied dryly. 

 

 

A short time later a now-revived Freddie was barging into bedrooms and ransacking armoires.

“We’re going to be photographed all day tomorrow, I can’t leave this to chance, darlings,” he declared, coordinating outfits for each of them. “Brian, why did you bring nothing but your velvet suit?”

“It’s the only thing I always look decent in. I packed plenty of shirts, just as you told me to do.”

“It will have to do, I suppose.”

Brian and Roger followed Freddie into John’s room. The occupant was seated on his bed reading the latest issue of _Practical Electronics_.

“Bad news always arrives in a herd,” he quipped.

“Johnnie, what did you bring to wear for tomorrow?”

“You said it had to be stylish so I brought everything you’ve ever picked out for me.”

“What a wise lad you are,” Freddie said with a grin, looking through the garments which were hung in the wardrobe. “Some of this is a bit too _too_ , but, well, one supposes it will be alright.”

“I’m going to be the only one who looks as if he belongs in the county!” Roger declared.

“We’ll have to find a cow for you to pose with, darling - and don’t you dare say that’s **me**!”

They all laughed. Brian went over to the window and tried not to shiver at what he was seeing.

“Speaking of, you definitely need more than all that denim, Roggie,” Freddie said and the two wandered out, debating the merits of various ensembles.

The phone rang, and a few moments later Mrs. Andrews was calling up the stairs for one of them to come down and speak to Mr. Brainsby. Freddie called out, “Bri, you do it, I’m in the midst of a fashion crisis!”

“You are not!” Roger retorted with a laugh.

Brian came down and took the receiver from the matron of the house. “Thank you,” he said with a smile. “H’llo Tony, Bri here.”

“Brian, old man, how are things going?”

“Fine, it’s fine. So at what hour do our honoured guests turn up tomorrow?”

“Rumi’s assistant just rang me - such a charming girl, speaks perfect English - she said they would be setting out for the place around nine o’clock. So they’ll be there for elevenses, one would suspect.”

“Righto then, we’re just working out what to wear.”

“I wanted to tell you, Roy and Barbara are coming out for the day as well.”

“Are they? Lovely, we can play what we’ve been working on for him.”

“Yes, that was rather the point, you can give everyone a preview.”

“No pressure!” Brian joked.

“Rather wish I could visit, but this agency doesn’t run itself, you know.”

“Of course. Thanks for the heads-up, Tony.”

“Let me know how it goes, then. Tell Rumi she can ring me from there if she needs to. Speak soon.”

Brian returned to his room and found John leaning out the window again.

“To return to my point, Deaky, what does that tower belong to? The one we inexplicably can’t see from here.”

“I don’t know. We never saw it.”

“But it’s right there!” Brian exclaimed, gesturing in the alleged direction of the object.

John shrugged. “Show me the drawing you were talking about.”

Brian unrolled the sheet of paper for John’s perusal.

“Wish I could draw like Fred does,” John murmured. “Can’t make a straight line without a ruler.”

“I’m not much better meself. But like I told him, that’s **her**.”

“I can certainly see why she’s the stuff of dreams, but -”

“Wait, my god, I almost forgot!”

Brian picked up his well-worn paperback copy of _The Glass Bead Game_ from the nightstand and flipped through the pages, pulling out a photograph.

“Look, I actually photographed her!”

John stared at it, his expression one of stunned wonder. “My word. But Brian, this is not the same...well, _whatever_ she is, as Freddie’s portrait.”

“Of course it is!”

“No, it’s not.”

“It is, it’s just that the light makes her look not all there, in a manner of speaking.”

“Let’s put it to a vote.”

Brian hurriedly shut the door and leaned against it, his eyes wide with panic.

“We can’t show them that!” he said. His voice had dropped to a whisper but the tone was emphatic. “Don’t you see, that’s going to turn everything on its’ head! Because how could I have photographed someone none of us even noticed that day?”

“But there’s the proof you’ve been wanting!”

“I’ve produced proof enough! It doesn’t matter whether they believe me. She’s not here for _them_.”

John paused, and his expression was contemplative. He looked out the window again.

“Do you think they’d even see the tower if they were in my room?”

Brian shut his eyes for a moment, like he thought he might be sick.

“To be honest, I’m surprised **you** can see it too.”

 

 

In preparation for the visit of the honourable Rumiko Hoshika, during their afternoon tea on the veranda the boys filled out new questionnaires to be printed in the issue of _Music Life_ along with their “a day in the life” feature and as was his wont, only Brian took it seriously. Ratty and Crystal read aloud the completed inquiries to the general amusement of all assembled.

“Favorite food: fairy droppings,” Crystal intoned. “So what’s that taste like then, Rog?”

“A virgin’s knickers,” Roger replied with a cheeky grin, and everyone guffawed.

“Careful Splodge, you make the Fair Folk angry and they’ll take you under the hill,” Freddie teasingly cautioned.

John looked over at Brian and they exchanged a wry glance.

“Tony said Roy and Barbara are coming tomorrow as well,” Brian informed them. “So we can play the new songs.”

“Darling I’m not ready!” Freddie cried. “Not for a recital!”

“We don’t have to _perform_ ,” Roger insisted. “We’ll just play whatever we do think is ready enough and they’ll have to be satisfied with that.”

“Let’s give it a go after supper,” John suggested. “And then we can decide.”

“Well if we _are_ performing then I’m having guests too!” Freddie proclaimed, rushing into the house, presumably to telephone someone.

“Who?” Roger asked, though they all knew the answer.

Upon Freddie’s departure they had lapsed into silence, Brian staring off into the trees.

 _Guests_ , he thought, _they’ll likely be at least one more_.


	7. She moves the world in which she walks

Midsummer churned their brains to hot cream.  
\- David Pinner, _Ritual_ (1967)

 

John handed Brian the portable tape deck and headphones. “Just tell me what you think it is.”

Brian shivered just the slightest as he placed the cans over his ears. John had shown him where on the counter he should begin listening and then he shut his eyes, focusing on what didn’t belong. That was a technique they had all learned over the years which was necessary for audio mixing; after so many hours of listening to isolated segments of recordings - one snare hit, one vocal line, one bass run - it all started to sound the same. One had to learn to subtract everything but that which was not meant to be. The music, the conversation, it was all normal. So what wasn’t normal?

And then there it was, underneath the banter - a rhythmic kind of incursion, hissing and thumping but so far in the background you couldn’t consciously understand unless you were listening for it. Followed by the voice he had heard, entirely clear even as it was more like a growl. He jumped though he knew it was coming. He ran it again, and again, trying to work out what the other sound was.

“I can hear some sounds for certain. But it’s too faint for me to truly _hear_ it, more like just the suggestion of something.”

John nodded. “I asked Harris to fetch me some equipment, I’m going to try to isolate it.”

“How much is _that_ going to cost us?”

“Nothing; I’ve called in a few favors at Chelsea.”

Brian smiled, then sighed and scratched his scalp beneath the tangle of his hair. “I have a feeling that knowing whatever it is won’t help matters.”

“Do you believe in the supernatural?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then what is this? Because you give off more than a whiff of panic that the fairies are coming to get you.”

“We have evidence that there is something happening. Something which is supernatural can’t necessarily be quantified.”

“How soon we forget _The Stone Tape_ , eh? So then what is this?”

“That was a story, but this is happening to us, to me!”

“Brian, I’m not trying to argue that you don’t have proof. But we’re men of science, at least to some degree, so we have to attempt to ascertain if we can make some kind of assessment based on the proof we do have.”

“But it won’t - not in a way which explains it the way I know it should be explained.”

John gave him a look which Brian was long-familiar with: slightly skeptical but calm. John was never frustrated with not understanding something, he would just set about methodically working at it until he could.

“You’re referring to unconscious intuition.”

Brian moved to John’s window, looked out at something which likely did not exist in their consensual reality, but there it was, his eyes could _see it_. It was a taunt, he reckoned, to their blithe assurance in the physical world.

“Intuition is valuable, even as it is equally derided.”

John came to stand alongside his bandmate. “What do you reckon would happen if we walked toward it?”

“We’d never reach it, because it isn’t really there.”

“I’ve considered that it’s not here, but it’s _somewhere_.”

Brian nodded. “I think you’re right about that. Roger mentioned a warp, but I believe it’s more like an intersection. There’s a spot which bleeds into what we know, and when Freddie said he wasn’t _here_ , I believe him.”

“What do you think will happen tomorrow?”

“Nothing. Too many people about, I reckon. So mother and child are doing well now?”

John smiled. “Yes, safe as houses with the grannies about, and Jules too, to lend a hand.”

Brian nodded. “Good; I’d hate to think we’re taking you from something - “

“Work is work, isn’t it? And this work is important.”

They took a moment to ponder that notion, exchanging inscrutable looks between them.

 

John once again recorded their rehearsal, this time to possibly play _to_ their visitors in lieu of actually playing _for_ them, though they all knew that would be expected. Their creative pursuit was ultimately a performative one, and any financial reward - as they well knew - was based on the audience’s loyalty to their cause.

After a round of phone calls to keep the home fires burning the band decided to forgo the pub and have a few drinks over the game of Cluedo which had been left undone some days before. Ratty and Crystal were bound by no such expectation not to appear haggard the next day and legged it down the road, leaving the band and the family on the premises; Harris remaining overnight in London on his errands.

Brian felt as though the edges of his mind were beginning to curl up like unruly paper - considerations of what might be on the tape, or what he might happen to hear in the middle of the night, or what he might dream of - distracting him from both the banter and the competition in front of him.

“Brian - I’m in the Billiard Room, do keep up dear,” Freddie chided.

“Huh? Oh yes, well…” He consulted his notes. “And what is your deduction, dear?”

“Well I’m not going to make one if you have the Billiard Room card, of course.”

“I do not.”

Roger shook his head and then John produced it with a wry grin.

“Sorry Fred,” he said, and Freddie threw up his hands.

“You still need to eliminate a suspect and a weapon, darling,” Roger countered. “Please let’s not having any cheating this time.”

“I don’t cheat so much as I attempt to avoid boredom,” Freddie said in his own defense, and they all laughed at the notion.

“I’m in agreement with my colleague,” Brian said with an ersatz Scotland Yard inflection, “there should be no cheating whatsoever.”

“Fine then! I suggest it was Reverend Green with the spanner.”

“He’s not a plumber, dear, he’s a vicar,” John teased and Freddie swatted him.

Brian leaned over the board to show Freddie his spanner card, and Freddie marked it off.

“So no one’s got the Right Reverend then?” he asked, and they all shook their heads. This actually _was_ in violation of the game’s rules but it appealed to their egalitarian preferences when it came to group activities. “Right, he’s looking more and more suspicious.”

“Does it ever turn out to be the vicar?” John asked.

“Only when it comes to shagging the village constable’s wife,” Roger rejoined with a grin.

“Country life is so much more scandalous than one could have imagined,” Freddie quipped.

Brian was looking over his shoulder at the darkness beyond the farmhouse, how they were trapped in a pool of light...all the better to be found by whatever was out there. But this farmhouse had stood for several centuries; if in fact there were entities who considered the local human habitation as an incursion of sorts, surely they could have remedied the situation long ages ago. He was reminded of their group excursions to Cornwall, and how there were places which seemed wholly uninhabited, as if no one had ever even tried to live upon particular plots of land, a feeling of wild ruin and a vast loneliness. The spaces in which man was at odds with the environment, which had abided long before their appearance.

 _It’s all madness_ , he told himself. A very peculiar sort. He took a particular comfort in considering it might be just that, though he had always treasured his mind as an instrument which would sustain him however he might choose to use it. But he grew cold at the thought of all of them being under threat. He was glad nothing had happened to Roger and the other remained his usual ebullient self, teasing everyone and playing it all for laughs.

They protected each other, he knew. They _had_ to, in order to survive treachery and the general benign neglect of the world, until that world could understand what these four had to offer, and how it would be essential to the collective happiness if only given the chance.

Eventually the game play succumbed to the usual distractions of burgeoning drunkenness and general silliness, and Brian attempted to join in, but felt as though his efforts were performed at a remove. On their way to collective slumber, John paused at the doorway of Brian’s room.

“I left it in the barn,” he whispered. “The recorder.”

“Why?”

“I rather, uh, wondered what might happen.”

Brian tried to suppress a reaction, but he crossed his arms against his chest and shivered.

 

Brian felt her breath against his neck, heard her words not as words, but as sounds which could not be shaped according to his understanding. Felt her upon him, felt himself inside her, the kind of union he lacked the ability to comprehend. It was something beyond what sex was meant to convey. His hands seemed rough and clumsy against what he perceived as creamy silk, the softest thing imaginable. She kissed him and the taste made him think of honeycomb and rose petals. Nothing else so sweet and thick and soft as her mouth upon his, lending him succour and fulfilling every impulse of desire he had ever possessed. Even that agonizing year when he ached for just a glance from the most perfect girl he had ever beheld, sat behind her in lectures stunned at the very fact of her in the world.

Brian had been rescued from such tortures by those who **did** see him, those few who did regard him as potentially interesting and desirable. And thus he dwelt in the here-and-now and yet with one foot in a dream.

The dream he continued to long for, the fantasy which captivated him, in whatever form it took.

And what she promised...a bliss which simply _was_. Unending. A golden vista with no terminus, which shimmered and stretched and enchanted with its very sight. He was so close, and he had only to step into it, ask for her hand and go forth with her. To belong to her, always.

There was a surety to the notion, and it seemed so logical. The _something more_ for which he had been longing.

Even in the midst of this dream or whatever it was, prosaic details pricked at his consciousness. He thought of how Chrissy might snap her fingers in his face at times when daydreaming or merely caught up in various thoughts. _Where are you and what are you doing?_ she would demand, and her querulous interrogation might be only half-joking. She envied his imagination only because she knew she didn’t reside anywhere within it.

He blinked slow and hot daylight licked his skin.

“Why don’t you just take me?” he whispered. “Don’t play games.” What were all the ambitions of the world when one could have magic, and a life without the pain of disillusion and disappointment.

_But what would they do without you?_

He sat up in bed. The day was so very hot already, and yet also so early that he might be the only one awake. A glance at the clock verified this assumption. He rose, aching for a piss but took a moment to look out the window, uncaring if someone should happen to glimpse his naked form.

_Brian._

More games, but he refused to be afraid.

“What do you want from me?” he demanded in the same whisper.

_Where are you and what are you doing?_

He gasped when he looked to the right. The tower was where it should be if it existed, gleaming in deep coppery tones as bestowed by the rising sun. She was mocking him, he knew, and why wouldn’t she? Humans were ridiculous creatures.

“I have things to do,” he said in a normal tone of voice. “Today is an important day.”

Mocking laughter ringed around his head and then that haunting tone stretching to a growl.

_I see you._


	8. So fair and full of flesh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this story takes place in the UK, the temperature is thus noted in Celsius.  
> (Formatting was not my friend today, hence the use of obvious scene breaks.)

The temperature was already in the high 20s by mid-morning. In seeming unison the band all met down at breakfast to decide the tone of the day. Smiling, pleasant, grateful for the consideration of their Japanese fans, and certainly something playful as well. But most importantly a united front to those portraying them through the lens of the press.

Freddie ate somewhat hurriedly. “Must get myself in order, dears!” he exclaimed, shaking the hair which in sleep had returned to its’ naturally curly state. Brian mused that he didn’t particularly miss the days of straightening his hair, his efforts took far longer than Freddie’s if only because his hair was so frizzy it took several tries with the tongs to get it to do _anything_ but obey its’ natural inclination to curl.

“Don’t forget about your nails, Bri,” he reminded the other, and Brian nodded, remembering that he had come downstairs with the bottle of white Biba varnish but then where had he set it down?

Brian wandered back the way he came and finally found it on an end table in the lounge, and then after applying a coat to the nails on his left hand he awaited the first wave outside on the veranda, wiggling his rainbow-socked feet in the sun and reading. John wandered out, attired in jeans and a t-shirt featuring the butterfly rampant logo of their American distributor. Brian smiled, but then turned ponderous.

“Why does Elektra’s logo have a butterfly?”

“Named for Greek mythology, isn’t it? Is there a butterfly involved in there somewhere?”

“The butterfly represents the soul; I think I read that in _The White Goddess_ or something.”

“Goodness it’s hot,” John murmured. He glanced at Brian. “You’re clashing, I think.”

Brian looked down at his striped jumper and socks. “But they each have stripes.”

John chuckled. “As Fred would say, ‘there you go, thinking like a bloke again.’”

“Freddie demanded that I not be monochromatic so this is the best I can manage.”

“Aren’t you warm?”

“It’s a ladies’ jumper - more for decorative effect than warmth, I reckon; Chrissy found it at a jumble sale.”

John leaned down to view the cover of the paperback Brian held in one hand. “Now that looks dire,” he noted, and Brian handed him the book. “ _The World In Winter_ , that’s an interesting thing to be reading this time of year.”

“Yes, it’s about what would happen to us with the advent of a new ice age. It’s interesting; there are so very few books about this sort of thing.”

“Fiction?”

“Yes.”

“Does it make you feel cold then?”

Brian shrugged. “Not particularly.”

“Be nice if it did, one imagines.”

Freddie entered into this daylight stage as with all entrances: slightly tentative, but then wholly assured once he assessed the situation. He was again clad all in white.

“Now this is hardly fair, Fred,” Brian groused in a teasing fashion. 

“Only one of us can be dressed this way,” Freddie replied. He gave Brian an up-and-down appraisal upon the chaise lounge. “Really, darling?”

“This jumper is fine. Chrissy said she read in some fashion magazine that brunets with hazel eyes should wear purple.”

“That’s the sort of advice they’re giving? Deaks would look a fright in purple!”

“But I don’t have hazel eyes, Fred. They’re grey-green.”

“Are they? Let me see,” Freddie demanded, then pretended to inspect John’s eyes. “Hmm well, I don’t see much difference if I’m honest. And besides dearie, you’re **not** wearing _purple_ , you’re wearing lilac, mulberry and grape.”

John made a sound of amusement. “That’s what you get for trying to tell an art student about color.” 

Brian rolled his eyes good-naturedly and then their heads turned at the sound of a car horn coming from the road just beyond the farmhouse. 

“All right, boys,” Freddie said, clapping his hands. “Time to turn on the charm!” 

****************

Their initial visitors turned out to be Mary and David Minns, attempting to appear as if they were well-acquainted and socialized frequently...when all assembled knew they didn’t. Mary seemed relieved to be among those she did know, as Roger led her on a tour of the farmhouse, and Freddie walked with David along the path towards the pool. Brian stood staring at their progress and John could sense he was fretting. 

“It should be alright, I reckon,” he said in a reassuring tone though he had no reason to actually believe it. 

“I know they want a moment alone and all,” Brian said softly. “And it’s not our business, but I feel as though I should be watchful all the same.” 

The two turned away when they saw the others had halted their pace and held hands, talking intently. 

“It’s nice to see Freddie settled, don’t you think?” Brian asked. 

“Certainly, as long as he’s happy. It’s an easy thing to fall in love, but what comes after -” 

“- is negotiation and recrimination.” 

John chuckled. “I was going to say _is all the things in between_ , but you sound married already.” 

“Every time someone brings that up I want to say that I already feel as though we’ve been wedded since the day we met.” 

“You don’t sound particularly _happy_ to say that.” 

“I -” Brian began but then lapsed into one of his thoughtful silences and John shook his head with a slight smile. 

Over tea and prosaic conversation regarding home politics, the weather, and current business dealings, they wondered with some concern over the delay of the Japanese party as someone in the house turned on the radio. The ubiquitous tones of Macca floated out to them on Radio 1, reminding them of everything they wanted to be. 

_And Jet -_  
_I thought the only lonely place was on the moon._

“Are we gonna go see him?” Brian asked the others. “I thought Reid said Wings was playing Hammersmith Odeon in September.” 

Roger made a face. “Eh, I dunno, I find the whole thing a bit suspect.” 

The others made scoffing noises. “Well of course we are!” Freddie proclaimed. “I’m curious to know what His Nibs does for a rock show. We might see something we can steal!” 

The car bearing those honourable guests chose that moment to arrive and the rest of the day was full of entertaining antics, earnest interviews, and a bit of performance. Roy and Barbara didn’t arrive till after lunch, but quickly made themselves at home, wandering about the property with the rest of the group, visiting the pool and the tennis court and the barn. 

The band was happy to see Rumiko again, accompanied by her assistant Michiko and photographer Watal, they all made proper _ojigi_ as well as effusive embraces and kisses in the European fashion. As she exited the car Rumiko made an uncharacteristic sound of loud surprise at the heat. 

“England is never so hot!” she exclaimed, and they all explained how they were having a dry summer. 

In order to provide the best coverage, the boys were photographed opening their many gifts and awards and gamely posing with the objects, which included a set of kabuki masks as well as kites, but to Freddie’s disappointment no new kendama toys, which he had enjoyed on their previous trip to Japan. Several changes of clothing (and numerous rolls of film) later, Brian having donned a birthday gift from Rumiko - a black silk happi coat featuring a design of kanji and flowers - they awaited dinner in the game room while looking through copies of _Music Life_ featuring what appeared to be all the photographs taken of them while in Japan: photo sessions, press conferences, performances, tourist junkets, traveling between cities...it had seemed like a wildly rushing dream but here was the evidence of their triumph, and it gave them hope that they could achieve it once more. They all remarked that they wished there were more music magazines like it in the UK, with plenty of glossy photographs. 

“We’ve been a bit isolated here for weeks now,” Brian remarked to Rumiko, “so it’s lovely to be reminded of being a band and doing what we were made to do.” 

“I think this album will be very successful,” she told him, her smile more than merely polite, and he was touched as he had been previously by her genuinely warm regard. The people of Japan as a whole seemed to approve of them, which was quite the opposite of their relationship with the home countries, where the press largely despised them and large sections of the populace were accepting. 

He blinked rapidly and smiled, and though some people had told him such mannerisms were enchanting, he couldn’t help but recall the infamous fight which had nearly ended his relationship with the woman he was now sworn to marry. _Don’t you sit there and blink at me, Brian May, as if you’ve no idea of what you’ve done!_

He pulled himself back to the moment with an effort of will. “We hope so, we want to do our best for ourselves, and to give the fans something they will enjoy.” 

Across the snooker table Roger made a pointed throaty sound and Brian looked up with wide-eyed annoyance. 

_Can you attempt to stop being such a craven pleaser for one moment?!_

His response could have been interpreted as _Can you please mind your own fucking business?!_

Just another day at the office. 

****************

“Will you continue in the glam rock style?” Rumiko asked him after dinner, and Brian had to think for a moment. He had ceased to consider Queen’s image as something apart from or laid over them, a conscious decision. It was more like an expression of the way in which they saw themselves, a heightening of their own confidence. 

“Until we get tired of it, I suppose. It seems to suit us, don’t you think? Freddie and Roger are ever so clever about fashion, they always know how we should look.” 

“Do you like it?” she further inquired and he squirmed to consider how to answer. 

“I don’t mind it particularly. Deaky was rather aghast when Fred first told him how we should look, but he gave in soon enough. That’s the thing about Freddie, when he’s got a grand idea he sort of bowls one over with his enthusiasm to carry it out. I tend not to think of such things at all, so it’s nice to depend on someone who does.” 

“We get so many letters from fans who think you’re very handsome,” she said, then put a hand over her mouth as was custom when making such a personal admission. Brian knew she was laughing from shyness, not because she thought it was a ludicrous notion. He smiled at her, enjoying the effect of the expression on her emotions. She liked him too, he knew this from their prior encounters, even as she attempted a professional facade. 

“I’ve seen some of those!” he exclaimed, gently teasing. “It’s gratifying, I suppose if it entices someone to listen to our music then it’s a genuine compliment. I’m certainly not used to being perceived as attractive, but Freddie always did say I had potential.” 

“Your soul is in your eyes,” she said, and made another endearingly shy gesture. Brian felt as though the air had grown thick somehow, with that familiar tension of expectant longing. He knew what it felt like now, knew what could be done in such a situation. There was a pang of nostalgia in his stomach for the last time it had happened. This was just harmless flirtation of a kind but he felt he needed to practice his allure on someone who couldn’t get him into trouble. He looked through his lashes, blinking, a smile forming slowly but surely at the compliment which was something beyond an admission of attraction. 

_You’ve got this mad monk vibe to you sometimes_ , Roger had told him at various moments, _and something about that whole ethereal caught-up-in-the-questions-of-the-universe thing really turns the girls on. I dunno why, but there ‘tis._ For a few years Brian thought Roger was mocking him until Chrissy had confirmed it, in a begrudging sort of way as if she didn’t want him to understand his own burgeoning charisma. 

“They say that of everyone, don’t they? I can see your soul in your eyes too, Rumi-chan. Such a thoughtful and caring person you are.” 

She blushed, giggling once more, and Brian was alternately pleased but almost slightly ashamed at himself for being so obviously manipulative. It was almost as if it hadn’t even occurred to him that he was being too presumptuous for the context of their social interaction. 

And then he knew. That same mocking laughter in his head. But he couldn’t tell either way. It could just be him, drunk on his own status with their visitors. 

“Are you ready for pudding?” he asked, attempting the guise of the gracious host. “I’m sure we’ve brewed the tea you so graciously brought for us - Freddie loved it, as I recall.” 

She nodded and they rose from the settee. Brian gestured, and Rumiko walked towards the dining room. He looked out the nearest window, taking a deep breath. 

**_Don’t_** , he thought - as much to himself as to _her_. 

****************

The night was heavy upon him, the moon swollen and he stood naked at the window, waiting for something. 

When he closed his eyes he could feel something against his skin, minute sensations like fingertips. He could hear distant music, pipes and drums and bells but in a rhythm he had never experienced, music which was alien to his apprehension of such things. 

When he opened his eyes, it was only the hot heavy night around him, and a shiver traveled from the soles of his feet to the top of his scalp. 

He could do it, the hour late enough, the house quiet enough. No one would know. 

Walk out of the room and down the hall, descend the stairs, across to the door and then the veranda and the lawn and follow the path. Go to the place between, where she waited for him. 

She could call to him in various ways, and she had, but she could not come to him. 

It was uncomfortably hot, and the pond would feel so very refreshing. 

He gripped the frame of the window, humming to himself, not realizing these were instinctual motions against coercion. In his dreams she would show him bliss, he could not stop her magic there. The moon made the landscape nearly bright as day and he could spy the glimmer of something within the trees, movement, and would they be so bold? 

The pull, the call...and the moonlight filled him like milk in a jug. 

He was panting, desire and fear spiraling, entwining, within him. Fully erect, every nerve afire with this enchantment. If he had been clothed he would have torn the garments from him, sweat making his skin shine much like the glow illuminating everything in his sight. 

Her mouth upon his, that same silken richness of honey and roses, and a buzzing...he couldn’t tell if it was his own humming, echoing around his head, or the sound of her speech, her call to him in her own language...was it _my love_ , was it _you are mine_ , was it _you must pay for your trespass_. 

**_Why me?!_**

_I see you_ , she said. _I see you and see you and see you._

Her tone was all longing and wonder and desire. Hunger which he could feel, a lust deeper than mere appetite. 

He knew these things, had felt them all. 

He sank to his knees, sobbing to attempt to grasp his sanity, the remnants of the physical world, as it broke apart around him. 

He started, blinking, slumped half-hanging out of the window. He swooned from the sudden shock of his position, the ground seeming to rise up towards him. He gripped the windowsill and nearly cried out. He eased the upper half of his body back into the room and thumped upon the floor, face in his hands. Steady deep breaths, until the fierce grip of panic eased. 

Brian pulled the duvet and the pillow from the bed and made a sort of nest for himself in the corner of the room away from the window, curling into a ball and shivering despite the heat. 

Eventually he slept, though he wasn’t entirely certain, his subconscious once more a tangled skein of images and sounds. 


	9. The Bower

The dining room was once again filled with guests, but they all looked uneasily at the sky. For the first time since the band had arrived, the sky was crowded with signs of rain. Bruised-looking clouds gathered on the horizon and the air was thick with rumoured moisture and negative ions. The wind had picked up slightly and every so often they could feel a hint of coolness through the open windows.

“You say it hadn’t rained here?” Roy inquired.

“Not a drop,” John noted. “Odd, isn’t it?”

The other nodded and sipped at his tea. “Say Deaky, did you give me that tape last night? I thought I had put it in my bag but it wasn’t there this morning.”

“Which tape?” Brian asked, his hand in his pocket tight around the coin, its’ weight pushing against his palm.

“The one of your rehearsal from the other night. Thought I’d get to work on production notes if that’s alright with you.”

“Which one did you give him, Deaks?” Brian asked, raising his eyebrows at John.

“The new one. Or at least I _thought_ I did. I’ll check my room again, RT.”

“Righto.”

Brian helped himself to some porridge from the sideboard, topping it with jam and cream. He took a seat next to Michiko, making a slight bow.

“Did you sleep well, Michi-chan?”

She smiled, nodding her head. “Oh yes, this place reminds me of visiting my grandfather’s farm near the Kitakami River, in Iwate.”

“That’s in...the North?”

“The East,” she replied.

Brian nodded. “And where is Rumi-chan? Still asleep?”

Her delicate brow furrowed. “I am...concerned, if it should rain. She went out with Roger-san, he was kind enough to accompany her for a walk. She has one of Watal’s cameras, for photos of the scenery. English countryside is so beautiful.”

Brian willed himself not to react as instinct dictated, which meant pure panic.

“Have they been gone long?”

Michiko regarded her wristwatch. “Twenty minutes, perhaps?”

“Hopefully they should return within another 10 minutes or so. I daresay neither of them is desiring to go tramping about in the far fields.”

Michiko gave him a polite but uncertain smile, pushing her hair from her face in a definite nervous gesture.

 

Brian didn’t see any point in investigating until after he’d finished his breakfast; if he reacted too quickly that might cause undue inquiry among their guests. The meal thus concluded, he approached John quietly, speaking in a discreet murmur.

“Let’s walk to the barn, perhaps look for that reel?”

John nodded and followed Brian out through the kitchen door.

“Roger and Rumiko are out there,” Brian told him, with a wave of his hand in the direction of the pool. “They might be lost already.”

“Or they might **not** be.”

“I have a hunch.”

John grimaced. The rising wind ruffled his hair, and he pushed it back from his face. “Mayhap she’s trying to make a deal with you.”

“I know she is.”

John stopped his stride once they had reached the barn. “If things are as you believe they are, then you’re the only one who can stop this.”

“Alone?”

“You’re the only one who _truly_ believes. But I somehow doubt, based on what you’ve told me, that Frank and Billy are going to be of much use.”

“Can’t say as I blame them for that. But you’ve got to figure out which tape you gave RT, can you imagine if he were to hear -”

“Yes I need to check on that. So are you going, then?” John asked, nodding his head towards the pool.

Brian sighed. “Look, if I don’t come back, don’t tell anyone the truth. No one would believe you.”

John’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’ve _got_ to come back, you can’t just leave us, not now.”

“It’s not up to me.”

John thought about pointing out what a convenient excuse that was, but bit his lip instead. The expectant humidity was smothering and he found himself wishing that it would rain already.

“D’ya think she means to drown us, then?” he wondered, looking up at the sky.

“I believe she is displeased, and as per the usual here I am disappointing yet another female,” Brian quipped. But before John could give him a response he walked off in the direction of the pool.

 

Brian trod upon grass which was transformed from parched yellow to a lusciously cool green. The air seemed to shimmer around him, as if tiny jewels were suspended within it. He continued to walk and yet the pool and its’ antebuilding grew no closer. 

Brian knew that if he stopped and turned around, everything behind him would have vanished. He called for Roger and Rumiko but it seemed his voice died upon the air as soon as he made the utterance. All he could hear was the distant rumble of thunder.

He wondered if that was her game, to keep him wandering for eternity.

 

John entered the barn with caution, possessed of a notion that whatever had been watching them was there. The instruments and amplification awaited their attentions, the grey light of the morning bestowing a somber air upon the scene. He stood still and listened. Thunder in the distance and a breeze rustling the vegetation. But no other sounds. And that was specifically strange, not to at least hear the farm’s rooster on a repeating interval. He felt like he was underwater, the weight and lack of sound completely oppressive. He looked around, searching for white tape boxes, and there were none to be found. But there _was_ a tape inside his portable reel-to-reel deck.

“Hang on, what is -” John murmured to himself. Examining the deck, he saw by the counter that the tape had been in use for some minutes prior. He uncoupled the deck from the external mic and placed it inside its’ carrying case, resisting an urge to look over his shoulder. He slowly turned around and made for the exit, clutching the case in both hands, the shoulder strap dangling down. Reaching the threshold he heard another sound and stopped abruptly, startled by the noise. Looking down he saw one of the farm’s many cats, grooming itself and looking thoroughly smug as cats tended to do.

“Hullo there,” he said, nodding his head. The cat regarded him with wide golden eyes, its’ tawny fur rippling in the wind. The exchanged glance went on far longer than he supposed it should have. The cat would have either scampered away or approached him for further attention. But this... _scrutiny_...seemed to infer that he was a guest who might now be testing the limits of his host’s largesse.

John almost wished **he** had some kind of found token he could produce as oblation. And as that thought was sounding within his imagination, the cat made a kind of trill...in agreement, perhaps?

“I’ll be going now,” he said gently, a measure of respect in his tone. The cat said nothing. But he could feel those eyes on him all the way back to the farmhouse.

 

Brian finally stopped. He stood on the path, panting from the exertion of his pace, wondering how much time had passed in his world. The trees and grass looked familiar but no one landmark appeared to reveal his location.

“I’ve come,” he finally said in a normal tone of voice. “I’ve come to you now, so let them go. Let them go, _please_.”

Silence.

 

 

John was met at the kitchen door by a very agitated frontman.

“Where is Roger?!” Freddie demanded.

John looked down at his shoes and scratched the back of his head.

“He took Rumiko for a walk, so said Brian. He’s gone to look for them.”

“Because he thinks - “ at this Freddie dropped his voice, “they’re lost?”

“He does.”

“Michiko is very worried, poor thing. She thinks they will get caught out in the storm.”

“Fred, let me ask you something.” John drew Freddie out into the yard and pointed towards the East end of the property. “Did you happen to see anything like a tower when you got lost?”

“A tower?”

“Yeah, over in that direction.” He pointed off towards the village, and it occurred to him that the tower should have also been visible from where they were standing, but it wasn’t.

“No darling, I couldn’t. It was only fields, fields that seemed to go on forever.”

“Tell Michiko that Brian is out looking for them, hopefully it shouldn’t be too long, right?”

Freddie looked skeptical. “How do we know Brian won’t get lost too?”

“If he does, I reckon we’ll find the others. I think that’s how it works.”

“How _what_ works?”

“I really couldn’t say.”

Freddie opened his mouth to say something more, decided against it, and went back inside. John took a few strides toward the pool, stopping just beyond where the veranda ended and the path began. He looked around, then cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, hoping that the intended target of his instructions would be able to hear him.

“Brian, if you can hear me, look for the tower! Walk east!”

John repeated the words several times, somewhat surprised that no one had come out and asked him why he was yelling at no one. He walked backwards until he could feel the concrete of the veranda under his feet.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d turned around to find everything had disappeared.

 

This place was no place in particular, Brian knew that, but he also wondered if it was a place he had been banished to, rather than welcomed. His recollections of the bower from his dreams, it was something beyond a location and more like a state of mind. This place did not hum with the collective magic of the other, it was not fashioned of golden light and silken air.

He had failed then, failed to show himself worthy of such a distinction.

Perversely, one might assume, his longing for it then increased at that moment.

 _Why don’t you take me?_ he asked her again in his thoughts.

The wind responded, ruffling his hair, and faint hints of music teased his ears. He pulled his jumper over his head, tossing it onto the ground.

 _I now disavow all who seek to claim me._

Next came his shoes and socks, then trousers. Was she looking? Was she laughing?

The music was louder, if not necessarily intelligible.

Brian took a deep breath, finally pulling down his skivvies and stepped out of them, the ground warm and soft under his feet, the wind moving against his body raising gooseflesh. Now skyclad, he raised up his arms, shutting his eyes.

_Will you take me now?!_

He heard his name, murmured soft and hot in his ear, against his neck. Opening his eyes he saw he was now standing before the pond across from the Granary. The wind moved the limbs of the yew tree which hung over it, but the water remained still. The water deep and dark green, the clouds reflected upon its’ glass-like calm seemed to float across the surface. Brian took another breath and stepped into -

\- not into water, but falling as if from some height into a void, a sense of nowhere and nothing surrounding the motion of his descent.

He opened his eyes and she was there, beside him and around him and above him and inside him.

 _Am I dead now?_ he wondered.

_You are mine, as you always have been, from before you knew._

_How am I able to understand you now?_

_Because you are able to hear me. You came to me and we are ours._

 

John willed himself to rational calm, made certain his voice would not betray the beginnings of what he believed might be genuine panic. The wind was now rather more fierce though the rain had not yet begun but the sky was dark as old pewter. He moved away from the window, venturing into the game room to enlist their right-hand men who were engaged in a serious game of snooker.

“Lads,” he said, his tone light, “Rog isn’t back yet and I rather wondered -”

Crystal looked up with sharp concern.

“No? He said they were only going to walk about the grounds for a bit so Rumi could take some snaps.”

“Brian went to fetch them but it’s half-past now, and...well…”

“Funny innit, how one loses track of time ‘round these parts?” Ratty said, though his expression was indicating something else entirely.

“It’s ruddy _strange_ is wot it is,” Crystal rejoined. “So where we lookin’ then?”

“If you will take the path to the pool and then onto the Granary, please.”

They nodded, but their cabal was then disturbed by loud barking outside the house. John immediately made for the front door. All of the farm’s canines were gathered just beyond the veranda, barking at whatever they sensed was coming down the path.

Which turned out to be a rather chagrined drummer and their guest journalist.

“Roger what happened?!” John exclaimed, running out to greet them. “You’ve been gone nearly two hours and Michiko has been worried sick!”

“It was the strangest bloody thing!” the other exclaimed. “I swear we walked in a straight line, from here up to the pool and past the Granary, but then when we turned back we weren’t where we thought we were.”

“It was most perplexing,” Rumiko murmured, her face pale and her eyes wide with residual dread. “We could not find the farmhouse.”

“Are you all right?” John asked, touching her arm lightly. “Come inside for some tea, you must be exhausted from all that walking.”

“Rumiko-san!” Michiko exclaimed upon her seeing her employer. The two women collapsed into an embrace and spoke excitedly in their native tongue. John put a hand on Roger’s shoulder and motioned him away from the others.

“Brian went to search for you,” he said in a whisper.

Roger’s answering expression was immediately panicked, then he swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

“The bloody fool, he’s gonna stumble right into that warp.”

“Is **that** what you think it is?”

Roger huffed and tugged at his hair, blinking rapidly.

“It’s _something_ , I wager. I fully admit it now, there is something terribly amiss here. And you know how I hate to admit he’s right, ever.”

John coughed up a morbid chuckle.

“I think he meant to...trade.”

“Huh?”

“Himself for the two of you.”

Kettledrum peels of thunder sounded above them. Rumiko and Michiko hurried into the farmhouse.

“That idiot! He can’t _do_ that, he can’t just _do that_!”

“I quite agree, but I didn’t know how to stop him.”

“Y’never yell at anyone Johnnie, _that’s_ your problem. So what do we do now, then?”

“We’ll need to raid your percussion case, methinks.”

Roger’s confusion quickly gave way to laughing understanding.

“That’s brilliant, Deaks!”

John frowned, those lichen-colored eyes narrowing as he looked towards the horizon.

“You can laud me later, if we don’t bring the enchanted realm down upon our heads first.”

 

A kiss...but more than a kiss. A delving, a melding, a union.

The sky was so very blue, a blue he’d never seen in all his life, though there had been some memorable shades. Again he was reminded of his time at the top of the mountain, the vault of Heaven a very deep blue on clear days, but not like this. The sky was nearly indigo. He recalled how the clouds could roll in like the sea, to obscure and reveal. But this sky...he felt as though he might fall into it. His eyes strained to understand it. She ran a hand across his chest, resting over his heart, and he felt a steady thrum throughout his body, traveling into hers.

“What are you?” he whispered.

_I am the end of all wondering. All wandering. Here, you are met. Here, you are mine. Here, there is no longing, no sorrow._

The hum which others had spoken of, and he had also heard, it rose within and without him, swallowing all sense. She kissed him - honey and roses thick upon his tongue - and he understood that even in the midst of so much bliss she meant to hollow him out, devour the sweetness of his humanity like the jeweled interior of a pomegranate, and leave the husk to feed the Earth in that eternal bargain the Fae had brokered with the land which sustained their kind. Beauty was always the lure, on both sides, but she had no use for his dreaming questing mind, or his abilities therein.

And the nagging voice of his ego, fierce and fickle and insecure, scolded him.

_This is not what you wanted, not really. To be wrapped in an embrace so welcoming, to melt into another, yes - to lose your fears and doubts, but not to lose **yourself**._

Not when there was the world yet to gain. Their mutual ambition which beat steadily inside them all, pulse and spur and taunt.

Was it the music he could hear again? Bells and pipes and drums? Certainly more raucous now, even as everything in his sight was dissolving in a slow fade, the light growing dimmer with each blink. The void taking hold. But the noise swelled and it replaced the hum. His name, he could hear his name being shouted louder than all thunder.

An object, falling toward them within the bower, a brighter flash of gold within that enveloping glow. She caught it. She rose up from her feast of him and regarded her smooth unlined palm. Her sublime face, which had no doubt destroyed souls both lesser and greater than his, contorted with fury to see the coin she had given him now back in her possession. She screeched, a sound unending, and Brian felt the enchantment break apart around him with the force of her agonizing din.

His last glimpse, before the darkness overtook him, was of the true face of avarice. And it was terrifying in a way he couldn’t comprehend - though so very cruel and spiteful and grotesque - except to hope that he might finally be drown after all.


End file.
